Cabin Fever
by JupiterOrchid
Summary: Derek gets hurt and Stiles only has his wit, his books, and a senile Herbologist to help him figure out how to fix it. What happens when books are no longer enough and Stiles must leave his insecurities behind or forever lose his stars? Warning:Slash! :D
1. Chapter One

Chapter One: In which Stiles is confused, Derek is unconscious and Scott is "aching

to get back to Allyson." 

It was hard to tell what was going on and who was on what side. Suddenly Derek was falling and Scott was changing back into a human form and Stiles was getting out of his cover and sprinting to their side. The clearing was a mess of lights and shouts and growls and shots fired in all directions and the ground was up and the sky was down and Stiles lost all count of what has happened in the past hour. It was like his brain blew up and the tornado that was constantly swirling in his mind suddenly broke loose upon the world. Scott had one of Derek's arms draped around the back of his neck and Stiles ducked under the other as they hobbled towards his car. As they made their way through the thick woods, all Stiles could think was _man, Derek is heavy._ But then they were by his car, and Scott was pushing Derek into his passenger seat and slamming the door and yelling at Stiles and Stiles had to concentrate to understand what he was saying.

"What, dude, hold on," stiles stammered catching Scott by the shoulders.

"Stiles, there's no time! Drive! Hurry, u gotta get outta here, NOW! They got him with one of those wolfsbane arrows, he won't last a week like that. Drive out, get out of the city!"

"Scott, hold on," Stiles couldn't do this; it was all happening too much, too quick, he was starting to panic. "Where do I go? What do I do? Scott, I can't just leave the town! I can't just get up and go when there's a war going on! What am I doing?"

"Stiles, calm down," Scott was losing his patience, aching to get back to Allyson. "We're not alone and you'll figure it out, man. You must get out of here, at least until Derek is back on his feet. Take care of him, get out of town, go somewhere safe, wait this out."

Stiles was suddenly pushed into the driver's seat and Scott was slamming the door yelling: "Drive!" And as Stiles smashed his foot on the gas pedal he suddenly realized how far they had to walk to get to his car.

* * *

><p>First Fanfiction up and going into the publish-machine! Woo-hoo! =DD<p>

Alrighty, that was short, I know. BUT! I do believe chapters will get longer and I mean... Hay! Shorter chapters are an easier read! Sort of... Sometimes! Hope you enjoyed that little bit and are aching for more..(?) Drop a note, I'd love to hear what you're all thinking! :))


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: In which Oil Lamps are lit and Stiles is "caught off guard"

A wall of greenery soared past as Stiles sped down the highway, leaving Beacon Hills miles behind. Derek, unconscious and bleeding, moaned softly in the passenger seat, clutching his side weakly. Stiles' fingers tapped impatiently on the stirring wheel, his head spinning from all that has happened for the past week.

As the Alpha's identity was exposed a full on war has unraveled in which Scott and Derek somehow ended up on the same side as the Argents and the "Alpha's" pack turned out to be a great lot bigger than what they thought and a lot more fierce, too*. Along inborn and "bred" (humans turned) werewolves fought devoted followers, vicious profiteers, and trained debtors unleashing a chaos seeking army on their quite and monotonous hometown. And between all this crazed, alternate-reality battle was he, Stiles Stilinski, a mere human of no remarkable physical, combatant or supernatural capacities. He was way out of his league here, sharpening arrow heads and helping Chris Argent clean assault rifles and loading magic bullets into single-action revolvers and now he was driving god knows where, with a dying Derek Hale, the top candidate in his Big-Bad-Wolf-of-the-Year list and he just couldn't DO this anymore!

As all of this passed through his head he swerved off the highway into a side-road and suddenly knew exactly where he was going. When – soon after – he pulled beside a cabin on the bank of some forever-forgotten creek, it looked just like he remembered it. The cabin was originally built by his grandfather, the same one he was named after. Last time he's been here he was running away, after his father told an exasperated, 14-year-old Stiles he was going out on a date. He ended up taking a ride with Alan Jamison's family** – that were just setting off on a road trip – and then walking for hours. It was three years after his mother died and a whole load of ridiculous. When his father found him there the day after, they both did a lot of apologizing. That was the only time he's been there since his mother's death; it just wasn't the same without her. His father, however, went there every season, fixing it up and cleaning a bit, making sure it still stood, the way his late wife would have wanted it to. Now, Stiles was happy he did all that work and he was also happy for the key that still lay under the empty flower pot at the entrance, just where his mother left it.

He hauled Derek off the passenger seat and through the front door. The inside was dusty and stiff but manageable. An old sofa stood in the living room along with a love-seat and his mom's rocking chair. Books lined up the mantelpiece and the shelves surrounding it. Tall windows were sheltered with dusty curtains and a low coffee table stood in the middle of the room, a bit away from the fireplace and the rug in front of it. Derek was carefully stationed on the couch as Stiles himself ventured into the kitchen, checking the water and the canned products filling up the cabinets. There were plates and glasses and even cutlery. The fridge stood abandoned in the corner and the electric stove stood dead, collecting dust but that all could be fixed once he'll get the generator running. It was getting dark however, so he got the oil lamps out of a side closet in the hallway – his mom had an odd fascination with those things so the cabin was always stacked with paraffin oil and matches – and lighting a couple came back to the living room. Derek was slowly waking up and Stiles decided it's a good idea to get the first aid kit. By the time he was back Derek was fully awake, staring at the ceiling.

"Where are we?" he asked as soon as he got a trace of Stiles' scent. His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper and yet he still managed to sound commending and threatening. Stiles really hated that guy.

"My family's cabin, it's pretty remote. We should be safe here," explained Stiles, dropping the kit on the table. "I think we should get your wound checked, it doesn't seem to heal on its own."

Derek was about to object but Stiles was already lifting his T-shirt and whistling low at the sight.

"It doesn't seem very deep but I guess the wolfsbane got you good. Better get the arrowhead out," Stiles observed, reaching for bandages and a pair of crude looking, surgical tongs.

"Wait," Derek cried out (or more like wheezed out) looking at the tongs. "The arrow head was poisoned with a wolfsbane concoction; if you take it out it might kill me. You can't touch it until we know what we're doing."

"So you're just going to lay here, with that... that... THING in your stomach until we magically know what to do?" Stiles waved the tongs, exasperated. Derek raised an eyebrow. Honestly, sometimes Stiles wasn't sure Hale could show any other expressions than "mild disdain" and "grave irritation" but that was a look that clearly showed disappointment, stating: _are you an idiot, Stiles Stilinski? _Stiles was caught off guard.

* * *

><p>*I started writing this around Episode 5: Magic Bullet so I didn't know at the time that the Alpha is yet to have a pack and when I did find out I also found it pretty lame so I stuck with my version. **Okay, okay, I know how unlikely this is so... Just imagine they are some awesome hippie family that believes in encouraging independence. ;))<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Story Info:<strong>

Since you decided that this Story was worth your while I guess I should mention a couple things. So... This isn't my first story/fanfic but it is the first I am determined to finish. However, as hard as I promise to try, there is a slight chance it might not get finished. Also, mature content will show up at _some _point during the story, I'm just not sure when exactly... Be patient, my dears. :))

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Info:<strong>

Well, this was a bit longer... Finally some mild Stiles/Derek interactions... New info bout Stiles and his mommy! WooHoo! What is Stiles going to doooooooo..? xDD Drop me a note on what u thing! Cheerio! :))


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter 3: In which a bit of Vintage is produced and Stiles is dubbed a "strange exemplar".**

As it turned out, Derek had a good reason for that look. Stiles didn't know if it was Derek's injury or being in this house again or simply this whole _craze _that drove his head round but he seemed to entirely forget the mounds of books he "borrowed" from multiple libraries – belonging both to the public and to certain werewolf-hunting families – and now carried around in his Jeep's trunk just for such an occasion. His collection ranged from slick, modern non-fiction to dusty, fire-scorched, hundred year old tomes. Over the past couple months he had collected enough books to cover the bottom of the trunk a couple times over. _Sadly – _reflected Stiles as he stood over his open trunk – _quantity does not guarantee quality, finding something useful might take forever._ He blinked in the dusk, clearing his head and carrying the first pile inside.

By the time Stiles had the last pile of books neatly placed on the floor, by the coffee table it was already too dark to deal with the generator. Stiles considered starting his research under the oil lamps. The light they emitted was low but there were two of them and they were adjustable and if he kept them close enough to his books the work was manageable. Moreover, Scott said Hale had less than a week to live so the faster he'll get to it the faster they can figure all of it out.

Derek was lying on the couch with his eyes closed. He looked like he was in a restless sleep but Stiles knew better than to assume that. Werewolves seemed to have an extreme ability to awaken in an instant from the deepest of sleeps*; Stiles already learned his lesson with Scott once.

"Derek," he called out and sure enough, the wolf's eyes opened in an instant. "I brought the books."

Derek lifted himself on his elbows with a low grunt and Stiles helped him half sit against the arm rest.

"No light," Hale remarked. _No shit Sherlock, _Stiles bit his tongue. "Nothing you can do now. Those lamps won't be enough; you might miss something important like that. Moreover, you are tired and I'm injured." Hale finished, as if that put everything in its place.

Stiles figured that was as close as Derek Hale could come to being nice and it's not like Stiles didn't appreciate the attempt. Because, really, he did! He only wished Derek wouldn't talk to him as if he were a stupid ten-year-old while doing so.

"Right," Stiles finally let the silence crack. "I'll make us something to eat then."

It was Derek's turn to be taken aback. Stiles held back the triumphant grin.

"And how is that going to work, exactly? You'll hunt down some rabbits and roast them on the lamps?" Hale sneered. Stiles had to laugh at that.

"That's more of your line of expertise," he joked walking to a side closet in the hallway and taking out a dusty, old carton box. "We have cabinets filled with cans and..." he paused, "we have this."

The box dropped lightly on the table and Stiles jogged back into the kitchen frantically rummaging about. When he was done a couple cans of beef stew; a pot; an iron kettle with some water; two mugs; a box of tea; and some bowls and spoons rested on the coffee table beside the box.

"Will you explain to me what's going on," Derek seemed impatient. Stiles took his time. He let another box, a metal one, slide out of the carton. Derek almost growled with frustration, he was tired and hungry and his wound was starting to bother him more and more. He didn't have the patience for this.

"This," Stiles looked at the dirty, cerulean box lovingly, "is an Optimus 111B, a 70's vintage camping stove. My mom kept it from her hippie days. It's in perfect condition and there's enough gas supply to last us a week at least. And I mean... by then I'll get the generator running."

Soon enough, a low flame was going and the Stew lightly bubbled in the pot and was poured into the bowls. When the kettle whistled and the tea was poured Stiles decided it was time for sleeping arrangements.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs and than mine is on this level. I figured I'll take my parents' and you can take mine, here. Since you have a bit of trouble moving around and that..." Stiles trailed off.

"Show the way," Derek said coldly, not touching his tea. He may have been wounded but he was a werewolf and the wolfsbane wasn't far enough into his system to cripple him entirely, yet. He wasn't helpless and he wasn't letting some snot-nosed brat get the upper hand on him. But of course Stiles wasn't snot-nosed or a brat*. In fact, Hale was slightly fascinated with that –albeit annoying but – strange exemplar of a human; Stiles Stilinski was, in many ways, anything but average. And maybe Derek stood up a bit too quick, as well. Whatever it was, Stiles ducked under one of his arms as the Lycanthrope swayed and led him out of the living room, past the kitchen. He had to pause at the entrance. Taking the room in, he simultaneously realized two things: one, the room, although cleaned and dusted, was left entirely untouched and two, although geeky and awkward, Stiles was one lucky kid.

* * *

><p>*I haven't read this anywhere so I apologize if this is not 100% accurate but it is a safe assumption considering they are predators and all...<p>

**_Come on, Hale. He's only a few years younger. _Sometimes it seems as if Derek is much older than either Stiles or Scott. Of course it only seems so due to him having experienced more in his life so it is very easy to forget how, in actuality, young Derek is. I think even Hale himself has difficulty realizing it..

* * *

><p>Chapter THREEEEE! :DDDD The chapters are getting longer! HURRAH! So this was slightly informative.. I'm not entirely happy with this. It feels a bit stiff... Maybe I'll rework it a little later. Nonetheless, Stiles' mom is mentioned again! And, oh! Who wants to see little Stiles' room? I wonder what Derek thinks of it..? Hmm..? =O<p>

Thank you so much for the comments. I never knew they could get me going so well, they are a true motivator, believe me. So if u have any suggestions or anything at all to say, drop a note. Even if it's just a couple of words it's a great help. It works miracles, true story! :P

***Announcement!* **A special Thanks goes out to SuperMerlinLlama for giving me my FIRST EVER REVIEW! Thanks for that, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it appearing so quick after I posted the first chapters! You made me want to write more right away! :))


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4: In which Derek Examines Stiles' Room and Stiles is, once again, **

**disappointed in Modern Literature.**

Derek lay on Stiles' bed, staring at the airplane reproductions hanging from the ceiling. The curtains were only partly closed, letting the silver moonlight spill onto the rag. It illuminated Stiles' old bookshelf and his tattered workbench. The room seemed tidy and functional but it didn't appear to have been used for a while. Movie posters and postcards adorned the walls around the bed. An old, 1985 "TeenWolf" poster* was accompanied by pictures of a Mig-15 "Foxbat" and Ar-234 "Arado" bomber. A technical illustration poster – showing six or seven different kinds of aerostats – was strategically placed at the head of the bed. Dozens of Post Cards from Egypt and India to Paris, Germany and even Russia were thumbtacked to the wall, overlapping with old pictures and yellowing diagrams. If Derek strained his head a little he could get a glimpse of the mural that was painted on top of the desk to his left. It depicted a whimsical looking dirigible with gears and knobs and a man and a woman with helmets and goggles, adorned in late 19th century fashion. It looked almost like something from a Victorian Sci-Fi* book cover.

When Derek gathered enough strength to get up, and open the closet he found little value in what it contained. Most clothes were meant for someone much younger but among the piles – both smartly folded on shelves and hanged on a rack – he found a stack of boxes, each neatly labelled; "Tools", "Acrylics", "Watercolours", "Brushes", "Bolts, Nuts & Nails", "Pebbles", "Misc.", "Paper Cuttings", "Comic Books". He was contemplating on fishing one out and busying himself with it but thought better of it, lowering himself back onto the bed.

He couldn't sleep, however. He could hear Stiles moving around the house, tidying after their meal, washing up. He could hear one of the lamps being moved; the third step up the stairs creaking lightly; feel the hitched breath as Stiles paused for half a fraction. The warm wind outside picked up a little and then settled down again. Derek listened to any outside noises; anything alien that didn't belong with Stiles' shuffling. The younger boy didn't seem to be settling to bed yet, he was rummaging through a cabinet, gulping down water. Somewhere, above Hale and slightly to the left, springs creaked, glass bumped glass, Stiles' breath settled. Derek listened to the younger boy's heartbeat, waiting for it to slow in rhythm as it lulled him to sleep.

** ooOoOOooOo** **  
><strong>

When Stiles was done tidying up he decided it would be a good idea to go through a couple of books today, after all. Two tomes tucked under his arm and a lamp and a glass of water in both hands, he set up the stairs, wincing a bit as the third step creaked hoarsely. When he reached his parents' bedroom he rummaged through his mom's old vanity before finding his emergency Adderall supply and popping a pill. Settling at the low coffee table, he first sat down on the sofa but then thought better of it, lowering himself to the floor with his legs stretched under the glass top.

The light was dull, making Stiles squint at the finer print. The first book was a slick paper-back, printed around '08. He did much research when Scott first started showing signs of Lycanthropy and from the beginning he made a safe assumption that older books were more reliable than newer ones, at least on the subject at hand. It didn't take long for the theory to be proven true. Nonetheless, at times, newer books still held valuable information so Stiles didn't dare eliminating them completely from his "collection". The particular exemplar he held open on the glass tabletop, however, seemed to be of little value.

_The word Lycanthropy was used to denote an extreme form of violent insanity in which the individual may imitate the behaviour of a mild beast, especially a wolf, _read Stiles quirking his nose. The text was a bit dubious and it only got worse the further he read. By the time the author started talking about a persona that, while under the effects of LSD, believed he was a werewolf and contained that belief even after the effects of the drug wore off (and as a result was treated for paranoid schizophrenic), Stiles already knew he was dealing with a non-believer. There were many such authors – both in literature and on the net – that, while never coming in genuine contact with a real anomaly of any kind – _not to mention a real life werewolf!_ – believed themselves to be educated enough to write a book on the subject. Most such books contained dull rationalizations and justifications of unexplainable events (much similar to the ones recently developing in Beacon Hill).

Stiles unceremoniously threw the book aside reaching for a dusty 1800's tome. He looked at it lovingly, remembering how much effort it took to get it out of the Argents' care. Although the tome had little information on damage and healing, it did prove quite useful and Stiles spent much more time on it than he ever intended to.

* * *

><p>*I thought it would be ironic ;)<p>

**I didn't want to say Steampunk but if for some of you "Steampunk" makes more sense than that is very nearly what I meant.

* * *

><p><strong>This Chapter:<strong>

Has been taking me **WAY** too long! BUT! It is finally here! I am not necessarily loving this, especially the last part but I am pumped to keep writing!

I have all those grand plans for those two amazing characters and I can only hope to perform sufficiently! :DD Hope you enjoyed Stiles' room! :)

P.s. So it turns out I couldn't be further from the truth in regards to what is happening in the show but honestly, this whole "Derek turns against Scott (and by association, against Stiles :'/)" scenario isn't doing it for me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all for all the support! I have received a lot of messages and comments of support and encouragement and I cannot thank you all enough! It's insane how much of a difference it makes! :DD<strong>

_Although a bit late_, special thanks go out to **Neena24** for the first Story Favorite and for the heartwarming message! THANKS! :DD

Thank you all again for the amazing support!

-Jupiter.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five: In which Stiles grumbles about parquette and time breaks into "a before and an after".**

Stiles stirred awake, rubbing his numb cheek. The small flame – still supported by the bit of oil left – flickered lightly in the lamp's chimney, illuminating his crumpled face. He swiped a palm over the smooth glass top, realizing for the first time that he has fallen asleep sitting on the floor, head resting on the yellowing papers of the old volume. His neck was sore, his behind numb, his legs aching at the knees. Stiles started to get up, grumbling under his breath about research and parquette and Adderall and mating rituals but only when he was finally standing straight over his research did he realize what had woke him.

Suddenly a low howl burst throughout the house. Stiles heard wolfs howl before; on TV and even in real life when his parents took him on a vacation, one winter, somewhere in the Rocky Mountains but that was something else entirely. It ripped through the air, close, loud and somehow very desperate. His mom once told him that wolves howled to signal their location to the pack. That was the first thing Stiles thought of before he stormed down the stairs, towards his old room.

By the time he reached his room's doorway the howl was long gone. Instead, the room filled up with low growling and rasped breathing. Derek was thrashing about on his thin bed, arms clutching at the sheets, the wall, the table, anything. His back arched as another growl escaped his lips and slipped into a very human scream. It seemed like the wolf and human in Derek were battling over dominance and, by the notches Derek's fingernails left in his old desk, Stiles was guessing the wolf was winning.

Stiles was afraid when he ran down the stairs, petrified when he crossed the hallway, past the kitchen. But when he stood in the doorway – watching Derek thrash around, growling and panting and desperately fighting something intangible – Stiles Stilinski was not afraid. He took a step towards the bed and then another one and another one and soon he was hovering on top of Hale, calling out for him, shaking his shoulders. Stiles just somehow knew Derek won't hurt him and he was set on waking the lycanthrope from his nightmarish stupor. On an impulse, Stiles climbed on the bed, straddling the older man's hips. He rested his palms on Derek's shoulders, careful not to agitate his wounds.

"Derek," his voice wasn't loud but it was strong and determined. "Derek, wake up. Come on."

That's when the most peculiar thing has happened: Derek sat up on the bed, facing Stiles. His eyes were open wide and glowing blue, fangs bared. Stiles didn't falter, didn't scramble away from the canines. He just looked back into the radiating eyes and then – as if it was totally normal, as if there was nothing unusual in this whole encounter – rested his forehead against Derek's.

It was as if time has stopped and they were both trapped in that moment; sharing warmth and breath, eyes glowing in the darkness. Something seemed to hang between them, like static. It felt like the kind of life defining moment that neither of them understood but both knew that from then on time would be broken into a before and an after.

Ultimately, after what seemed like hours, Derek's eyes gradually coloured back to its original greens. His hand let go of the abused table and came to rest beside Stiles' leg. Stiles was – for once – at a loss for words. Neither of them dared look away from each other nor break the touch. Finally Derek whispered:

"What just happened?"

"I'm not sure," Stiles whispered back suddenly struggling to breathe. He carefully lifted himself off of Derek, remembering the werewolf's wounded side, and came to rest on the floor by the bed. The moment was broken and Stiles spoke, louder this time:

"I donno. One moment I'm doing some research, and the next I'm waking up to you howling your socks off. So I ran here and you were growling and thrashing about and... I don't know. What the fuck just happened, man?" The funny thing was that Stiles really couldn't grasp on the reality of what has just happened. Everything seemed so unreal and entirely insane yet he knew that if he got another chance he wouldn't have changed anything. He couldn't explain it but he also knew that something very important has just happened and not being able to understand it was doing his head in. He all of a sudden really wanted some water or coke or Adderall or maybe just some sleep.

Derek didn't know how, but he somehow realized how crazy everything that happened was making Stiles and it was as if he could feel how tired the younger boy suddenly felt. Then again, maybe it was his own exhaustion that he was feeling. Either way, he caught Stiles' wrist lightly and tugged a bit saying:

"We'll figure it out tomorrow."

Stiles didn't resist. He just let Derek pull him in, rest one arm under Stiles' neck. And just like a moment before that, falling asleep side by side with Derek Hale, unexpectedly, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

><p>Well, hello there, fastest written chapter of the whole series! And I actually really like it, too!<p>

* * *

><p>Not many reviews on the previous chapter so yeah, it was a crappy one (not to say it took too damn long) but I really hope you'll like that one more! (I know I do!)<p>

R&R, please! Cheerio! :))

* * *

><p>Special thanks go out to:<strong> MyHeroRaven <strong>for my very first Author Alert, thanks so much! :]]


	6. Chapter Six

** Chapter Six: In which many odd things are happening and a " tiny caricature of a town" comes into the picture**.

It turns out that half a night is enough for Derek to get used to the warm presence by his side so, when he wakes up the next morning, light flooding the room, the cold space by his left feels more than a little odd. He tells himself not to panic and that Stiles is probably already up and about the house, fixing the generator or just doing whatever it is Stiles does best. Derek doesn't hurry to look for Stiles' heartbeat*, wanting to calm down first, shut down that unreasonable panic that begins to flood his mind. He gets up, wondering slowly towards the kitchen, eyes searching the walls for some indication of time. When he finally finds a clock it reads 11:47 which is an unusual occurrence for a Hale, really.*

At this point, Derek can no longer contain his worry which is also odd (he doesn't ever remember worrying that much over Stiles before). Nonetheless, he frantically searches out Stiles' heartbeat or – at that point – any indication of Stiles, at all. There's the scent. It's a bit faded but it's, more or less, everywhere. He can even smell it on himself which is comforting (another odd thing) but not enough to ease his worry.

Derek rushes out of the front door and onto the porch but stops abruptly when he doesn't see the Jeep anywhere. All that is left of it now are the tracks in the soft gravel.

His mind does a double take as he gapes slightly at the sight before him (which is, you guessed it, odd. Derek Hale doesn't gape, people gape at Derek Hale). At first, he thinks that Stiles just got scared from what happened yesterday and ran off but then he remembers the warmth they shared as the younger boy snuggled closer right before falling asleep. That's when Derek considers the possibility of Stiles going back to help Scott. It's true that he and Stiles shared something unusual the night before and that Stiles was specifically assigned to take care of him, Derek, but it doesn't change the devotion Stiles has for Scott or the way it makes him unreasonable, at times. At that point, Derek is really panicking because _if Stiles did go back to Scott than he's an idiot and he might get killed and Derek just __**has**__ to follow him now but what if he didn't go back to Scott and Derek is going to follow him there and Stiles will come back to an empty house, or worse, something has happened to him and Derek will be wasting precious time and Stiles disassembled his phone, in case they can be tracked and they have no contact and Oh. My. God!_ *

It's another one of those odd things, he realizes, that seem to happen today because Derek is sitting on the stairs of the porch, and is holding his head in his hands, and is having a panic attack of sorts, which he never remembered having before. Ever. It is in that brief moment of clarity that he first hears tires skidding down the gravel. He recognizes the sounds that are so uniquely "Stiles' trusty Jeep" and calms down completely, enough to wonder how he didn't notice it before and enough to be slightly ashamed of it and the uncharacteristic fit he just had.

By the time the Jeep slows to a stop in the driveway and Stiles is scrambling out of the driver's sit, Derek is standing up straight, leaning against the railing. For the first time since he woke up Hale notices the dull throb of pain in his side.

**ooOoOOooOo**

When Stiles woke up he smiled. It was, oddly, a very good morning. The curtains were lightly ruffled by a warm breeze, the light pooled into the room, tinting everything with gold. The boy turned his head and met face to face with Derek. Hale's eyes were closed, a look of calm splayed across his features. Stiles had so many questions, starting with "what the hell happened last night?" and coming down to "why the hell am I not flipping out about all this?" In his mind, he knew this was unreasonable, that he should be scared or angry or at least freaking out but his heart was as content as ever.

He got up as carefully as he could, as to not wake Derek up. After a quick shower he went back to his room, rummaging a bit in his closet. Then, making sure Derek was still fast asleep, scribbled a quick note and jumped into his Jeep, turning the key in the ignition.

There was this tiny caricature of a town some miles off. Last time he went there he was about the age of eleven or maybe twelve. It was nothing to look at, just a neat circle of a fountain with a weird statue in the middle, surrounded by a dozen or so little stores and shops, including a fruits-and-vegetables store, a bakery, a butcher shop, a coffee place and – his mom's two personal favourites – a bookstore and an odd little herbs place.

Stiles figured that some **actual** food will do both him and Derek good not to mention they didn't have any clothes or basic utilities. The staff in the shops didn't seem to change greatly for the past four years. There was Mr. Gyres, who seemed to inherit the Veggie shop from his parents, having a fight with Phoebe whose finger now glittered in the sun with a golden band. And old Freddie Blackwood was carrying boxes in and out of the butchery like every other morning. Oh! And there's lovely Lillian – now with a bit of gray in her hair and a couple more laugh lines – smiling from the bakery's counter. Stiles suddenly felt twelve again, striding behind his mother as she greeted all the shop keepers in term, slightly nodding his head and smiling shyly in acknowledgment of them, as if nothing has changed. But things have changed. Phoebe was now Mrs. Gyres and Freddie's trips in and out of the shop now took longer than they used to. Lillian was waving brightly at a child that just walked into the bakery, followed by his smiling father. And as for Stiles... Well, he had a wounded werewolf to get back to. So he shook his head, clearing out unnecessary thoughts and, smiling brightly at the lovely morning, went to do his shopping. As he thought, no one has recognized him.

* * *

><p>*Anyone noticed how Scott's super-hearing is really selective? Well that might mean that they can control what they hear or don't hear. Due to Derek's superb control I'd say it is in his power to control his senses to the point where he can just ignore certain sounds.<p>

**I always imagined both Laura and Derek sleeping very little, what with the hunters on their back and all that stuff...

***Yep, it's supposed to be ran-on, just like Derek's uncharacteristic thought process at the moment.

* * *

><p>AND HERE YOU HAVE IT! :DD I'm pretty satisfied with this... Finally the town comes into play! I'm so excited! :<p>

Word of the chapter: Odd.. xDDD Sorry bout that but I thought the repetition was kind of a good touch as I tried to give everyone insight into Derek's little "out of character" morning.

Thanks for all the awesome review! It makes this seem much more worthwhile than it is! :DDD

* * *

><p>Special thanks go out to <strong>FoxyNaru14 <strong>and** Guitargirl214 **for my two very first Author Favs! This means SO MUCH! and** iloveurias **for the short but oh, so lovely comment. Honestly, I sat there for like 5 minutes dumbly smiling at the screen! **THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH! =]]]**

Thanks again for all the favs, alerts and reviews! It means a LOT, guys! Really. :))


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven: In which the Generator is Fixed and it just "could very well be the end of" Stiles.**

Stiles jumped out of the driver's seat, smiling brightly. He was in a surprisingly good mood. He just got an amazing deal on some sweet corn and some French bread, not to mention that rocking Queen shirt he got for some ten bucks! He was just about to get his bags from the Jeep's trunk when he saw Derek on the porch and stopped in his tracks. There was Derek Hale, just like any other day. Standing strong, straight, dominant, lips pursed, arms crossed, face unemotional, eyes... Wait, something's...

"Derek, what's wrong?" Stiles asked, worry evident in the crease of his eyebrows.

"What?" Derek asked, taken aback. In actuality, Stiles was just as surprised as Hale.

"Ugh, n-nothing, never mind," the younger boy backtracked, going to the trunk.

"Here," he threw a bag at Derek, who caught it swiftly. "That's yours. I hope it fits alright, I wasn't sure."

He gathered all his bags and strode past Derek into the kitchen. Stiles couldn't help shake the feeling that something was off. Needless to say he wasn't smiling anymore.

"I'm going to fix the generator," Stiles said not looking at Derek and going out through the back. The generator was an easy fix, you just had to turn some knobs and push some buttons* and _voila!_ it buzzed to life. Stiles could do it with minimal effort since he was eight.

When the fridge was up and running and the electric kettle replaced the iron one on the counter, Stiles started putting away all the food. Derek leaned heavily against the doorframe, watching, taking in the precise motions. Stiles seemed to know exactly where everything went, without even giving it a second thought. When the last of the bread was put away and the kitchen started to get a more "lived-in" feel, Stiles had had enough.

"Derek," he risked, "what's going on? Are your battle wounds bothering you? Are you hungry?"

He still didn't look at Derek, walking towards his old room where he left his own bag of clothing and other things that didn't belong in the kitchen.

"Nothing," the werewolf barked, making Stiles wince. "I just woke up," he added as if that explained everything.

By that time Stiles was already in his room, collecting all the bags. That's when he realized precisely what was up. He was looking at the table where his note rested, exactly where he had left it, with the pen still across it, untouched.

"Derek, where you worried about me gone?" Stiles was still looking at the note, standing with his back to the older man who seemed to follow him around.

"No," Hale replied a bit too quick. Stiles didn't need super hearing to know he was lying. Whatever happened last night brought with it some very strange changes, not that Stiles complained.

He held up the piece of paper, finally turning around.

"But Derek," he said, a genuinely amused smile stretching his lips. "I left a note."

Stiles could swear he heard Hale hiss out a "_shit!"_ but he was no werewolf and he could very well be wrong. Derek's expression change, though. Or rather, his eyes change right before Stiles ducked out of the room, sprinting up the stairs, to his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

This could very well be the end of him, Stiles realized. He just angered a very, **very **dangerous, wounded werewolf that can tear him to pieces with one swing of his claws, even in his current situation. But instead of being scared, terrified, petrified, Stiles slid down the door and laughed.

**ooOoOOooOo**

Derek could've heard the laughter even if he weren't a werewolf. He growled lightly, only half meaning it. Somehow, he just couldn't get angry with Stiles. Even before last night, all his outburst at the younger boy were rather half hearted but now... he even let a slight smile tug at the corners of his lips. Hale picked up the note Stiles dropped in his rapid escape. It read: _Went out for some shopping. Be back in a bit. No hunting. Stiles =] P.s. You snore :P. _Hale couldn't help but chuckle at that.

He waited for all of five minutes before climbing the stairs. He just stood there for a bit, pressing his palm against the door and still hearing Stiles' light sniggers.

"Stiles, if you're not getting out of this room any time soon I'll have to go hunting," Hale finally warned before adding: "And it won't be pretty."

A silence settled for a moment. But only for a moment before the younger boy let out another chuckle, exclaiming:

"I'm not falling for this, Hale!"

Only Stiles' hand was already on the handle, turning it. Derek smiled.

A moment later, they both stood in the hall, looking each other in the eyes before bursting with laughter. Derek thought that there was something so simple and precious in this one moment that he will remember it forever.

* * *

><p>*Honestly, I have no idea how a home generator works or looks like (I assume it's just a smaller model of a regular generator but I have no idea how to work it) and I was too lazy to research so bare with me here.<p>

* * *

><p>Just a short, sweet chapter before everything gets serious. Hope you enjoyed it! And now I'm taking a short break from this before diving into the <strong>really <strong>important part.. Stay Tuned!

* * *

><p>Thanks for the reviews again!<p>

Special thanks go out to **Vrukalakos** for one of the BEST reviews ever and for just generally being awesome! =]]

Thanks again! Stay tuned! :DD


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight: In which things start going awry and Stiles has "a chart". **

Stiles couldn't remember feeling that good since Scott became a werewolf, opening the door of a completely new and extremely dangerous world to the both of them. But like that, standing in a stiff hallway of an old cabin and just laughing... Everything seemed to be okay again; like Scott wasn't miles away, battling an army; like Derek didn't have an arrowhead the size of Stiles' thumb stuck in his side; like he didn't have six days to live if they didn't find a cure. Stiles doesn't seem to remember ever seeing Derek laugh before. It's wonderful, like a funny cross between a dog's bark and bells chiming and there's light in his eyes, the kind that doesn't have anything to do with his inner wolf. Stiles suddenly realizes that he'd like to hear it as often as he could.

As if on cue, the moment the thought crosses his mind Derek is not laughing anymore. His face is distorted by pain and he's holding onto the wall, toppling to the side a bit. Stiles doesn't need to be asked or told or anything, he's by his side in a flash and is supporting most of Derek's weight on his shoulders. Derek grunts.

After a slow, painful struggle with the stairs, Stiles finally gets him to the living room. Derek is lowered once again onto the trusty sofa.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck," Stiles chants under his breath. He feels responsible. He got distracted, he lost track of what's really important. Derek may be werewolf and he may be able to stay alive with a poisoned arrowhead sticking from his side but he's not far enough from "human" to have unrestrained amounts of strength. He shouldn't even be up, not to mention worried or chasing Stiles around.

"Stiles," Derek hissed through gritted teeth. "You're rumbling. Calm down, I'm not dying just yet."

The pain starts to subside. Stiles stood still, looking intently at the new stain of red that was blooming on Derek's already soiled shirt. _He didn't have time to change, _Stiles thought absently.

"It's settling," Derek remarked, breathing heavily.

"I'm gonna go get some towels," Stiles informed him, sneaking off and coming back shortly with some warm water and a towel. The shirt had to go, that much was obvious. He dubbed the towel in the water and hesitantly started cleaning around the wound. It didn't look very good.

"This doesn't look so good," he informed the werewolf and then added, "If I didn't know better I'd say you were bitten by an alien or some giant squid. You know... something big, green and slimy."

"Stiles, squids aren't green," Derek had one arm draped across his eyes, trying not to wince.

"Well... No, but you know all those legends about the Giant Squid and stuff," Stiles' head was lowered over the wound and cocked to one side, "well, they all say that it's a deep-sea dweller and that it's very old. As in, "thousands of years old" kind of old and I mean, a thing that spent that much time in the deepest depths of the ocean is bound to end up green and slimy, right? And moreover, I always imagine squids green," he finished his rumble with a final dip of the towel, looking at Derek but Hale was nonresponsive. If the even breathing was anything to go by, he was asleep.

"Typical," Stiles said, exasperated. The wound really didn't look good. Tiny, blue veins branched out from its core, traveling in an uneven radius all around it. A clear, greenish liquid was covering the opening with a sticky layer. Stiles looked at the liquid with interest, tempted to stick his finger in it.

**ooOoOOooOo**

When Derek woke up the first thing he saw was the back of Stiles' closely cropped head. The boy – sitting at the foot of the sofa, legs outstretched under the table – was slaving over some dusty old book, back hunched and gaze intent on the writing. In a sudden burst of affection, Hale lifted his hand, patting at Stiles' shortly cropped hair in a brotherly gesture. Stiles' body stiffened for a moment before relaxing. The contact was broken when the boy turned his head around, a hesitant smile gracing his lips.

"Hay there, sleeping beauty," he joked. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit with a poisoned arrow that slowly seizes my body," the wolf grunted, trying to sit up.

"Well..." Stiles mused before turning back to his books. "I guess I can see why you might feel that way. I've been reading up quite a lot on monkshood and its connection to lycanthropes and such since I first figured Scott was a werewolf and even more so since you've been hit by that bullet but you see it's all... more or less unclear. I mean there are certain things that must be taken into account. Or rather, there are a **_TON _**of things that must be taken into account but some more than others. It all ties down to plant-lore really," Stiles looked back at Derek to make sure the wolf was still listening. Derek nodded shortly, signalling for the boy to continue.

"I mean technically speaking Lycanthropy is more or less biological. It's like a virus or a disease that is passed on through blood or venom in saliva or similar body fluids or something like that. To be honest, here the opinions vary. Some say it's a lot like STDs. Like in "_Ginger Snaps_" where Ginger has sex with that dude from her grade and he ends up infected."

"Never saw that movie," Derek cuts in between Stiles' assessments. Stiles just lifts an eyebrow and keeps going.

"Yeah, well," he grasps at a fleeting thought before getting back on track. "Others believe it's more like a venom type of thing like this whole bullshit in "Twilight" when Edward sucks the venom of this tracker vamp guy from Bella's bite. Which is rather ridiculous really, I mean Vampires don't have venom they can discharge at will! A blood exchange must occur for the curse to transfer but it's got nothing to do with venom and such like."

"You actually read that book?" Derek asked in feigned horror, trying not to smile.

"Just the first one, it really killed vampires for me*," Stiles answered before coughing intentionally and carrying on. "There are many other factors that are said to have to be considered. Like for the bite to occur on a full moon or predisposition in the person that is bitten."

Stiles stopped talking for a moment, as if waiting for Derek to speak up but the wolf just motioned for the boy to go on.

"Well, either way, once the exchange is complete, a genetic modification starts to take place. In actuality, it is much like in GMOs* but only slightly more precise. For instance, the effects are more or less the same for all recipients with the slighter oddities; some are faster, some are stronger, some experience better olfactory senses; some poses better auditory senses; some are more adept visually. However, the rest – much like in working with genomes – is more or less guess work, like pointing a finger at the sky. Some recipients are more susceptible to dying during or after the exchange than others. Some may experience chemical imbalances in the brain that are often associated with depression, bi-polar disorder, DID, or even schizophrenia. Negative physical changes might also occur, although they are much less common than those of a psychological nature. Which – I guess – makes sense since in much of the folklore, Werewolves seem to possess an insane physical power without a seeming mental stability, often compared to rabid dogs."

Derek winced at that and realization crept into Stiles' eye as he struggled to explain himself:

"Not that I'm comparing you or Scott to rabid dogs, cuz I'm not. At all. I'm just saying that people tended to, especially way back in older times where simple chemistry was accounted for black magic! And I mean those stories had to arise from somewhere. Some bred werewolves had to had trouble adjusting and I mean a biological change of such capacity at such a small period of time is got to be an extremely difficult process, with all sorts of consequences..." Stiles grew quieter as he went.

"Just," Derek paused for a moment fighting between anger and amusement, "keep going."

"Either way," Stiles hurried along, glad he seemed forgiven, "the process is largely biological. The mystical part about it is the peculiar connection between werewolves and the moon. Also the theoretical disappearance of the so called 'curse'," Stiles motioned with his fingers emphasizing his uncertainty on whether it was truly a curse or a blessing, "if the one that has done the biting is killed by the one bitten is also a strange mythical factor since it is obvious that one who's infected with a more..." Stiles paused searching for the right words. "Human virus such as AIDS, for example, will not be cured once the source of the virus is eliminated. Also the connection between the pack and the Alpha, or that which is established inside the pack, not to mention the connection between a wolf and its' mate (which, by the way, does not have to be another wolf)..." Stiles paused for a breath.

"It's rather strange for a biological infection so there's more than biology to consider. In fact, I don't think biology must be considered at all which makes this research the more difficult since researching medication from that... mythological point of view is a lot harder not to say much less certain. It's rather troublesome."

Stiles finished his speech, wondering how far off center he was in his knowledge. He was looking expectantly up at Derek when Hale started talking:

"Surprisingly, you weren't even all that wrong on most things," Derek teased making Stiles "humph" with exasperation.

"Ok," Stiles seemed to tense physically, waiting for Derek's bombardment. "First, lycanthropy is in many aspects a biological process. As you have said, a genetic transformation occurs. However, it is not all that random. We cannot predict if the recipient will survive or not and we can't tell much about the effects the bite will have on the recipient but we can predict if a person has **absolutely** no chances of enduring the exchange. It's just something about the scent of the recipient. Sometimes, a person's scent might tell us more about the possible effects but that happens very rarely, not to say it is much less accurate than the absolute knowledge that comes with the _dead scent_."

"Do I have any chance of surviving the bite?" Stiles chirped but was ignored entirely.

"As for the transfer," Derek continued. "We do posses a certain toxin, if you will. Its' discharge is controlled. The better control you have over the wolf the better control you have over the toxin. It is usually transferred through bite but if a scratch is deep enough it can also be transferred through a scratch. There's been a rumour..." Derek paused, seeming just a bit flustered. "I remember my parents once telling us of an exchange that occurred during sex. It has never been heard of before but I guess that is also possible."

"Anyway," he continued. "You were right about all the negative affects it might have both on mentality and physique. Which leads us to the reason as to why born werewolves are usually much stronger than bred ones. If a born and bred beta fight, nine times out of ten, the born one will win. When we are born we already are predisposed to possess the wolf gene which, in most cases, eliminates any possibility of mental or physical disruption."

"In most cases?" Stiles asked, wide-eyed. Derek sighed.

"As with human children, abnormalities happen," Hale explained. "Either way, the biological factor is only important during and in the week immediately after the exchange. After the body has adjusted to the wolf-gene the spiritual aspect is taking over. We have several legends in regards to that but that is for another time. As for plant-lore and more _mystical_ medicine..." Derek paused, sadness creeping into his eyes. Stiles knew better than to push him.

"We were just about to reach that topic in our studies when my parents died so my knowledge is limited," he finally admitted. An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Derek just peered intently at his hands, lost somewhere along memory lane. Finally, Stiles steered uncomfortably, cleaning his throat.

"Yeah well," he started uneasily, turning back to his books so he won't have to look at Derek who, in turn, shook his head, surfacing from his daze. "One important thing about plant-lore is the plants' connection to the solar system. The Moon, which is the ruler of the lycanthrope, is a double sided entity. On the one hand there's the lit side, the power it grants werewolves and the healing powers it carries; on the other hand, there's the dark side of the Moon, which can also represent the maddening effects it has on the wolf and the destructive power it possesses. You see here," Stiles lifted one of the books up to Derek, showing a complex scribble that looked vaguely like a hand drawn diagram that was scanned and printed in the book.

"This," he pointed at one particular symbol, "is an old Celtic symbol for "friendship". You see how it connects the line stretching from the Moon to the symbol of Mercury? But then, right here..." Stiles pointed at another line, in the middle of which a different symbol was set. "That's the symbol for "enemy"; see how it connects Mercury to the Moon? The Moon sees a friend in Mercury while Mercury sees an enemy in the Moon. I've seen similar connections like that before where, in a relationship between two planets, the first relates differently to the second one than the second relates to the first but most relationships involve the neutrality of at least **one** planet. Nothing I've seen has been that drastic as the opposition of "friend" and "enemy". I am absolutely positive that the key lies in the relationship between Mercury and the Moon but... I don't think it's as easy as that. Other planets have to be involved not to mention the Moon. The problem is, I'm not exactly sure which planets and, even if we could be sure it would be a specific set, there are thousands of plants under the influence of each planet. The search might take years of work!"

Stiles looked at Derek – who, by that time, took the book off the boy's hands – to emphasise his worry. After the pause lasted longer than a moment, Derek finally lifted his head. A perplexed look shone in his eyes.

"How can you even read this?" he asked, motioning at the scribble of a diagram. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I have a chart," he said, holding up a piece of paper.

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>For the Record: I have _not _read Twilight and I do apologize if I've offended anyone. As someone who hasn't read it, I don't really have an opinion about the book so no, I'm not a hater, more of a skeptic and this is Stiles' opinion (in my point of view) not mine. I did however have to sit through the first movie with my sister, from which I possess information on the specific scene mentioned.

[*HaterAlert!*]

*****GMO = Genetically Modified Organisms. For those who have no knowledge on the subject, know this: the production of such products (lol xD) is mostly guess work. They take a gene from one being, stick it into another and let it grow, observing the results. There are thousands of new species uncovered from GMO research which I guess is kinda awesome only... Did you know that only a couple hundred of those are on the market and are available to the general public? You know why? Cuz the rest have been proven to be as deadly as Anthrax, Typhoid Fever, and the Bubonic plague. But of course the results - instead of being destroyed - are stored in "super secret labs"! "Black Death", anyone? :3

[Yes, I'm against GMOs. I don't care how much money and power it saves, it's wrong.]

* * *

><p>And so, chapter 8 is finally up and man... Is it long or what? Now, before you start with the bombardment, I have done a BUNCH of research for all of this, especially on planets and plants but... You see, as Stiles has mentioned, it's all much less accurate than actual science and there are many opinions. I've tried using several sources to maximize authenticity but... You know how it is with research on mystics and mythos, it's hard to keep track of <strong>everything<strong>.

* * *

><p>I've only just realized that I haven't done this so...<p>

_**Disclaimer!**_

Stiles and Derek aren't mine, they belong to _Teen Wolf_ and their respectful owners. And while I'm at it, _Twilight_ is the property of Stephanie Myers and _Ginger Snaps_ is the property of the crazy git that came up with it.

_**Thanks for Reading! Please Review! =D  
><strong>_


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter 9: In which a curious Manuscript is uncovered and the " roles are suddenly reversed" **

Somehow, Derek didn't seem in the least bit worried about his current condition. To be quite frank, it drove Stiles wild. Could the wolf not see in how much danger he was? Couldn't he not understand what were the odds of him surviving this without the help of someone more qualified? Stiles visited the town a couple more times since that last trip and cooked quite a bit, making sure Derek was comfortable and his wound clean and bandaged but, other than that, he spent his every waking minute doubled over the dusty pages, the sleek manuals, the heavy omnibuses, the hardcovers, the leaflets, the essays, the compendiums, the ancient manuscripts he acquired from the Argent's house at the day of the big battle (_And thank god for that_, the boy thought, leafing through one of the said manuscripts). Only that didn't seem enough. Stiles wasn't a werewolf expert. _He wasn't even an expert researcher, for Merlin's sake!* All the hours he spent on research for the past months aside..._

Derek rested on the dusty couch Stiles was propped against, a book on his chest rising and falling to the flutter of his breathing. He fell asleep soon after another painful episode. The incidents weren't frequent but the intervals between them did get shorter with every day. It scared Stiles witless but he kept his nose in the books – thinking as positively as he could – and didn't mention it to the wolf.

It was during a similar thought that Stiles finally stumbled upon something. The manuscript he was currently going through felt oddly familiar. It was bound in thick, tattered leather with a metal clasp on the side and an unusual symbol etched on the front and the spine. Stiles traced the symbol with the tips of his fingers, so sure that he knew the lines by heart but not quite certain as to where from or why.

Stiles opened the book to the page he was holding open with his finger and kept reading. The topic was getting dangerously close to what he was looking for as he leafed through a couple more pages.

_...the toxin of Monkshood... immensely dangerous... Moonflowers... hazelnut oil... infection...open wound... in the case of specific circumstance... dangerous method... susceptibility... Lead... plain steel... concoction... dangerous mixture... refer to..._

The paragraph was cut off. Stiles, hopeful and frantic, flipped the page back and forth only to find no continuation. He did that a couple more times – deciding that his usual Adderall dose (which was probably much higher than acceptable) did not suffice – before noticing the tiny scraps of paper still sticking out between the page he was reading and the next one. _Ripped off, _in his mind he was screaming his head off. _I can't believe this! Who would rip a book? This can't be happening! It's ripped! _

Derek stirred making Stiles turn abruptly and clasp his mouth with both hands. It was that wide-eyed expression that Derek woke up to and the first thing that came out of his mouth was a short chuckle; he was seemingly weaker than three days ago, Stiles noted.

"What are you freaking out about?" he inquired, the smile still tugging at the corners of his lips, even if much less open.

"Huh?" Stiles murmured through his hands wondering if it was possible for someone to yell out loud and not notice it. Derek shook his head and changed the subject:

"Any progress?"

Stiles took a moment to recover, just staring at the amused werewolf.

"No," he finally said, still with his hands on his mouth.

"Stiles," Derek couldn't help the smile that was flourishing on his face. He tugged at Stiles' hands bringing them down.

"Any progress?"

"Ugh," the boy stammered. "No. Yes! Kind of..."

"So which is it," Derek teased.

"Well, you see," Stiles made to move for the book. Their hands were still linked but neither one seemed to notice it until the contact was broken. Then, it was suddenly out in the open. A third party, a phantom hovering between them like something unresolved. The silence stretched.

Stiles coughed uncomfortably. Derek rubbed at the back of his head, averting his eyes.

"You were saying?" Derek prompted.

"Um... Yes..." Stiles turned around, suddenly wanting very much to be anywhere but in that room. "I found this manuscript and it seems useful but there's a page torn out so we're back to square one, pretty much," he said to the manuscript.

"Let me see," Derek demanded, feeling uncomfortable and defensive. Stiles passed the book to him without looking. He busied himself with scraps of paper and other books littered about the table and the floor around him. Derek frowned at the boy's silence, getting angry – what about, he wasn't sure. Reluctantly, he got back to the book, reading over the opened page. After a moment of deafening silence he suddenly exclaimed:

"This is incredible!"

The sharpness of the cry shuttered the consuming silence, making Stiles practically jump out of his skin.

"What? What?" Stiles stammered, turning around, his previous discomfort entirely forgotten.

"This is as accurate as it gets," there was an uncharacteristically childish excitement in Derek's voice. He turned the page.

"I can't believe it's been damaged like that," Derek dragged his thumb down the snippets of the ripped paper. "Is it missing any more pages?" He wondered out loud.

"I didn't check," said Stiles but was ignored entirely as Derek went ahead frantically flipping through the pages. As it turned out, the book was compromised quite a bit and the further he went the angrier he seemed to get.

"I can't bel–" he started but then the book closed showing off its' tattered cover. Stiles didn't remember another time when he saw Derek that surprised.

"This can't be," Hale said, the anger crumbling away, replaced by immense pain.

"What," Stiles urged. "What is it?"

"This is one of the two missing _Lupi Notuum_* codex books," Derek said but that meant absolutely nothing to Stiles who was getting impatient, his brow creasing, his eyes shining dangerously.

"It's a series of thirteen books written by the _Cruentus Luna_*, an ancient brotherhood that has existed for thousands of years. It dates back to Alexander Ivailo who was bitten in a battle where he defeated the monstrous Lycaon. The _Cruentus Luna_'s purpose was, originally, to protect our race, pass on vital information, and keep the curse a secret.

My family are direct descendants of Ivailo himself and one of the three tribes that established the brotherhood. By right, we were supposed to come into possession of five of the thirteen books but two of them were lost in history. Legend has it that they are the ones discussing the elimination of the curse, health remedies, and poisons. I can't believe you found it," Derek finished, scrubbing at the symbol lightly.

The fleeting anger was gone now, giving way to frustration but was threatening to come back full force.

"Wait," Hale paused. "Isn't that the manuscript you stole from the Argents' library?"

"Temporarily misappropriated..?" It was more of a question than a statement as Stiles confirmed cautiously, seeing a flash of azure in Derek's moss-green eyes.

"Those mongrels,*" Derek bellowed. He was livid. "They just couldn't leave us alone, could they? Forever hunting us through the ages, not giving us any peace and now... now... this! Those books are sacred among our kind! How could they? First robbing us of them and now impairing them like that."

Stiles had no idea what to say, partly because the subject was too delicate for a casual crack up but mostly because Derek seemed to be going on and on about a subject so deeply personal to him that it flabbergasted Stiles into muteness. The roles were suddenly reversed and Stiles had difficulty dealing with the situation.

Soon, however, Derek's anger reached overwhelming proportions forcing Stiles to snap back into reality. Before he knew it, all his previous discomfort forgotten, he was gently taking the book out of Hale's hands and resting his own palms on Derek's shoulders.

"Hay now," he said calmly, almost smiling but not quite yet. "We don't know what happened or how the Argents came into possession of that book. Let's not jump into conclusions."

"Oh, I know what happened," said Derek stubbornly.

"No," Stiles tried being as gentle as he could. He noticed that Derek's wound was opening up again, blood seeping through his shirt. "You don't. Come on, it's late. You should get some rest."

Stiles led him out of the room. He got Derek into bed, changed his bandages and, bidding goodnight, slipped through the doorway. He still had a manuscript to go through and an ancient mythology encyclopedia to conquer. This night was promising to be a long one.

* * *

><p><em>*<em>Oh, boo-hoo, a Harry Potter reference... I do what I want O_o

_**Lupi Notuum_ - Latin for "known to wolves". It's not exactly "werewolf" but I just happen to like it better than "Lupus homine" which is considerably closer, meaning "the wolf man".

***_Cruentus Luna_ - Latin for "Bloody Moon". I figured it'd be appropriate.

****Iroooonyyy... xDDD

* * *

><p>So I know I haven't updated for AGES but I'm so busy with school that whenever I do get a moment I sleep or read or do something entirely non-productive. BUT, I started taking the story around with me and I'm trying to write it here and there in bits and pieces. I'm not exactly sure how that's gonna be working out cuz...<p>

* * *

><p>I'm not very happy with this chapter. It had some good info but it's kind of fragmented and I'm REALLY sorry about the short snippets of paragraphs. I just finished writing a speech for english a couple days ago, the kind that has a lot of pointed, specific, short paragraphs and I guess I can't seem to get rid of the style just yet...<p>

So yeah, not my best chapter. Not the lengthiest in the bunch but I do hope that, if anyone is still following this, you'll enjoy the better parts of it...

* * *

><p>Also, the story is pretty much laid out but if you have ideas for something (from general concepts to individual scenes or just specific details) drop me a note, I need some food for thought, some inspiration to keep writing...<p>

Thanks for Reading! Have a blast!

Ta, ta! xDDD


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter 10: In which Derek struggles to "keep [his] nightmares away" and Stiles finally speaks about his Mother.**

The white crescent of the moon was high in the sky, shining the sun's rays through the dark clouds and spilling onto the rippling of the lake. A gray mouse glided through the blades of grass, its' beady eyes shining, its' nose searching. It plunged under a branch, rounded a stamp, climbed up the heavy oak porch and disappeared through a crack, slithering into a warmly lit room. Stiles didn't notice the tiny creature that was making his way into the kitchen. His earphones were blaring loudly, gaze intent on the yellowing pages in front of him. Derek would probably have heard him but – as far as Stiles was concerned – he was in the other room and hopefully far enough into a deep peaceful sleep as to not be disturbed by a mere field mouse.*

The little fellow jerked a bit and quickened his pace as Stiles threw down his pencil in frustration. He just finished going over the manuscript and, although it was a very good source of information, with so many pages missing – Stiles counted thirty in all though there could've been more – it was considerably lacking. The most frustrating bit was that all the really important material – the stuff that could've helped them – seemed to be on those missing pages. The disappointment gnawed at his heart. It was very hard – he found – keeping hopeful when the pile of books was so rapidly descending in size. There were only four left by the table's far left corner, one more on the table itself and two more resting on the couch. That could've seemed like a good number if it weren't for the haphazardly piled twenty-three books – almost entirely useless – that rested in the corner of the room.

Stiles was just thinking the whole situation over, hoping to come up with a backup plan, when he heard a groan coming from his old room. He sprinted off the floor, ripping out his headphones and rushing to Derek's side, the fact that his headphones should have prevented him from hearing anything but his own thoughts – and even that, at times – not quite registering.

Derek's eyes were tightly shut as a low growl reverberated through his chest, bursting out of his mouth. His bandages, Stiles noticed, weren't holding up again, tinting with blood and serous fluid. Stiles stepped towards Hale, calling his name but the wolf didn't respond so Stiles touched his hand and the wolf's eyes fluttered open, momentarily.

"Stiles," said Derek, disoriented and breathless, his hand grasping at Stiles'. "What's happening?"

"You're having an episode," Stiles clued him in, lowering to his knees to rest by the bed. "Tell me if I can do anything."

Derek shut his eyes then, breathing hard and not saying anything, hand still grasping at Stiles'. Finally, after a long moment, he looked at Stiles and said; "Just... hold on," and Stiles did, holding his hand throughout the whole episode, bracing himself against Derek's painful grasp.

When the hold on Stiles' hand weakened and the pain, evident on Derek's features, seemed to subside the episode was over.

"Don't go," Derek asked when Stiles got up, but he did.

Derek's head snapped in unmasked surprise when Stiles walked back in with what seemed like a bowl of warm water, towels and new bandages.

"You didn't think I was just going to leave like that, did you?" he said only half serious. Derek, who finally remembered to school his expression into a kind of indifference, remained silent.

"I'm disappointed," Stiles went on, tone light. "I mean, here I am, taking care of you, cooking, changing your bandages, breathing book dust all day..."

"Book dust," Derek repeated quietly, eyebrow rising into the hairline.

"And you still think I'm going to get up and go," Stiles went on. He just finished cleaning the wound up and was already unravelling the new bandages.

"I mean, whatever happened to trust? To comradeship? Sure, I'm not the most consistent person in the bunch but I couldn't just get up and go. We only have so much time left and you're not getting any better and someone still has to take care of you and change your bandages and–"

"Stiles," Derek cut him off, pulling at the boy's wrist. "Shut up."

By that time, Stiles was already done and he complied easily, lying down beside the werewolf.

"I was just going to say that I'm getting good at this, with all the bandaging I have to do," Stiles huffed quietly, in exasperation.

"You never shut up, do you," Derek remarked. The silence stretched and then: "Thank you."

"Well, I was going to go back to my books," Stiles started, feeling Derek's hold on his wrist tighten ever so slightly. "But I figured someone needs to keep your nightmares away," he smiled at the ceiling. Derek frowned at it.

"I can take care of my own nightmares," Derek retorted but it was very quiet and there was no malice to it.

"I know you can," Stiles answered just as quietly and oddly serious. They didn't sleep much that night, just talked lightly, as the curtains shimmered in the moonlight.

"Tell me about your mother," Derek asked suddenly, stiffly interrupting Stiles' mindless banter about Nantes and conspiracy theories.

"My mother?" Stiles asked, his thought running away with him as he considers it for a bit.

"Yeah," Hale confirmed, more confident. "You always mention her but you never talk about her."

"Do I?" the boy wondered, not waiting for an answer. They lay in silence for a long moment, Derek patiently waiting and Stiles not knowing how to start. Hale was just about to tell Stiles to not mind it and that it's okay if he doesn't want to talk about it when the boy spoke:

"My mother," he paused as if trying to get used to the words again. "She was amazing."

Another pause.

"I mean," he went on. "My dad is great but no one can compare with my mother. She taught literature, history, and philosophy in Berkley University, she painted, made jewellery. All my Halloween costumes, she made herself. She read me poetry and mythology before bed. This cabin," he waved at the ceiling, "was her most favourite place in the whole world. We spent every holiday and free weekend in here, in every season. We would swim in the creek at summer and skate and build fortresses during the winter, when it was fall we would gather all the leaves and jump in them. The greatest thing was that dad did all of that with us," Stiles said, laughing and Derek had to laugh with him, imagining the serious, poised Sheriff Stilinski jumping around in autumn leaves and rolling in the snow, hiding behind fortresses.

"It was a happy time for my dad," Stiles suddenly said when their chuckles subsided. "He did his best to keep up with her when she died but it was hard on him, maybe even harder than it was on me," he paused. "She loved this town, too. She knew everyone in it by name, said she wanted to retire here, that's how much she loved it and dad loved it, too because he loved her so much. She had this treasure chest filled with all that crazy stuff from her youth and childhood and my childhood and she had this Polaroid camera that she always carried with her. Dad once got her a digital one and she threw a fit and refused to even touch it. It wasn't serious, though. No fight of theirs was ever serious. They somehow always ended up laughing at each other," Stiles paused for a breath and then sat up suddenly.

"What?" Derek asked, surprised by the sudden movement.

"I think we still have the treasure chest in the attic with all of her stuff in it," Stiles said, getting ready to rise.

"Tomorrow," Derek said, pushing lightly at Stiles' chest, pulling him back. He braced himself to a heated protest but none followed. Stiles dropped back beside the werewolf, turning to his side to face him.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, closing his eyes. His breathing soon evened out, and he was fast asleep. It took Derek longer to fall asleep so, for a while, he just lay there, watching the human's chest rising and falling.

* * *

><p>*I was trying out a new beginning technique...<p>

* * *

><p>I actually had this done on paper for a very long time. I'm generally satisfied with it. Nothing too significant happens here but I think it's a good build-up. I'm struggling with dialogue, though. I mostly ave troubles with dialogue... Which sucks. :

I have a bunch of the next chapter written out already but Merlin knows when it will be done.. :/ I'm graduating this year so... Gotta step up my game! xDD

Hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think (good and bad)! Cheerio! :D


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter 11: In Which a Treasure Chest is Opened and Stiles Falls Asleep to an Old VHS Tape**

Stiles woke up at the crack of dawn and lay in bed, watching the lazy rays of sun penetrating the curtains and crawling lazily on the ceiling. When he turned to his side he could see Derek's strong profile, his chest was rising and falling in an even motion. Stiles took a moment to reflect; there was something stirring in his chest which the youth could no longer ignore. Lying by Derek's side, as right as it may have seemed, was not normal or, at least, usual. Stiles had to admit that something has shifted between the two, way back when Derek's howl erupted through their cabin on that very first night. Whatever happened that night, it brought with it many changes. On several occasions, Stiles felt as if suddenly he was granted a certain very intimate insight into the wolf's being. On several occasions, he could pinpoint exactly what the wolf was feeling. Often now, Stiles could guess what the wolf was thinking and could predict Derek's emotional predisposition. That unique connection scared Stiles but it intrigued him more. His thoughts drifted to the previous night and to their conversation in regards to Stiles' mother.

Stop.

_Mom's trunk,_ Stiles thought suddenly getting uncomfortable, itching to get up and go look for it. Eventually, he decided it would be best to wait for Derek to wake up. He tried going back asleep but, instead, just kept tossing and turning, expectantly looking at Derek and barely holding up from shaking the werewolf awake. Finally Stiles realized that, at that rate, he would likely wake Derek up. Not really liking the prospect of that, he got up and snack out of the room, deciding to walk around and maybe fix some breakfast, fully intending to stay away from the attic, at least until Derek woke up.

It was only half an hour late when Derek awoke to an ear splintering bang coming from somewhere above him. Fully alert and disregarding his wounds, he sprinted out of bed and up to the second level. There, in the hallway. A ladder stretched from an opening in the ceiling. What looked like a treasure chest peeked from the opening. Stiles Stalinski lay on his back, across the hall, rubbing at the back of his head.

"Morning," he greeted from his place on the floor.

"You couldn't wait, could you?" Derek replied and, for once, Stiles couldn't tell whether the man was mad or simply amused.

-8-8-8-

Derek didn't let Stiles open the treasure chest until after they ate breakfast. Stiles whined and grumbled and complained but complied nonetheless. When they were finally done, the dishes cleared away and Derek's wound bandaged anew, Stiles cleared off the table in the living room and place the chest on top of it. For a while, they both sat on the couch and simply stared at it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Derek prompted.

"Ah," Stiles let out. "Yeah, I guess," he said but didn't move, staring at it as if he was willing it to open on its own.

"Stiles," Derek tried again but was interrupted.

"Could you, maybe..?" the boy wandered off. "Please."

Derek hesitated at first – it was delicate ground he was treading here – but complied. The heavy latch was coarse with mild rust and it opened slowly and with difficulty. The hinges creaked as the top lifted revealing a mass of boxes and trinkets, notebooks and books. He took out one of the medium sized box and handed it to Stiles. With unbending fingers Stiles finally got it to open and as he did, all the dread and stiffness seemed to leave his being. Seeing that, Derek let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The box contained a bronze wind chime of a seemingly crude cut.

"We made that," Stiles jingled the wind chime lightly. "We had this random sheet of metal lying in our garage and mom just sort of showed up with a metal cutter one day. We never really used it after this time."

"Let's put it up," Derek plucked the bronze mass of curled metal from Stile's fingers before the boy had a time to respond and walked towards the window.

"Wha–" Stiles quipped but Derek just hooked it on the curtain rod. Stiles eyed it, uncertain while the werewolf walked back to the coffee table.

The next box was even smaller than the previous one and it held a tiny casket. Stiles opened it carefully and jumped almost dropping it.

"Hey!" his voice went up a pitch. "It's my first tooth!"

Derek took the box from the boy, and taking a look at the white stone inside it he thought of his own first tooth, resting somewhere amongst the ashes and the dirt. Stiles, obviously perked up, got up and started rummaging through the treasure chest.

"Hey, look," he exclaimed taking a thick stack of carton fastened with a white cord. It turned out to be a stack of post-cards.

"She loved to travel," Stiles explained. "She and dad had all sorts of tales about Europe. They almost split up because of that, once. Way back when they first met, mom was going to head out in a month and backpack all over Europe. Dad wasn't thrilled. Instead she shortened her trip by more than a half and talked him into going with her. She was just like that," Stiles smirked going through the post cards. "Some of those are ones she sent to dad, some are from the both of them to her parents. Some are just random notes about their trips. Look, here's one from Barcelona."

When the post cards came to an end they took out a shoe box with a tattered pair of Dr. Marten's boots that seemed like they have been through everything and back and definitely saw better days. _First Pair_ was neatly labeled on the side. Under all the tissue, at the very bottom, they found a letter the sheriff wrote to his wife after they first met.

A couple of photo albums came out next, dated as far back as the 80's and 70's. A separate album hosted pictures of a younger version of the sheriff – sometimes accompanied by a tall beautiful brunette with bright green eyes – at the park, at the zoo, in some restaurant, and so on and so forth. Two albums with Stiles on the cover where out aside for later examination. Derek hid a smirk as Stiles' ears turned crimson. They found a notebook from Stiles' early years, where his mother noted every crazy, goofy thing he ever did or said; every misbehaviour, every worry of hers about Stiles' health or upbringing, every happy thought her son brought into her mind. That was also put aside, along with the albums.

There were many letters and trinkets in the treasure chest; key-chains, theater tickets, Stiles' earlier toys and articles of clothing, colourful jewelry and kandi bracelets, bracelets weaved and rings bent into shape. Eventually, Stiles finally reached the Polaroid he mentioned – a lovely 1977, 420 Land Polaroid. It was in an excellent shape with the film pack still in place and the battery compartment free of corrosion. Stiles just held it in his hands for a bit, contemplating, before he lifted it up and took a snapshot of Derek.

"It still works," he exclaimed as the apparatus droned into life and a pictured zoomed out with a murmur. Stiles waited for a bit before peeling the protective film off and taking a look at the picture. Derek's surprised face, softened by the camera's aptitude, stared back at him.

"Just like I remembered it," he said quietly.

"Don't waste your film," Derek advised to which Stiles just snapped another shot.

After the Polaroid was put aside, Derek took out a heavy leather jacket that seemed way too big for the tiny woman Derek saw in the photos. However, there was no mistaking that it was hers as it starred in many of her images.

"Mom was such a rocker," Stiles said pulling it on. Derek thought, rather uncomfortably, that it suited him well.

At one point, they found a series of VHS tapes, one of which was now blaring through the boxy TV. Stiles fell asleep halfway through it and was currently curled on the couch. Derek kept going through the contents of the trunk. He was laying things in piles on the table and waiting for the human to wake up when he finally reached the bottom.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter 12: In Which a Peculiar Letter is Received.**

It was buried at the very bottom, a package wrapped in thick brown paper and fastened with a hemp string and closed up with an old-fashioned red wax seal. An envelope was tucked under the hemp.

"Stiles," Derek called out, turning the package in his hands. Stiles just curled further into himself.

"Hey, Stiles," Derek nudged his shoulder. "Wake up."

"Nah, dude, Florida's that way," Stiles argued, swatting at Derek's hand. Derek shook him harder, raising his voice:

"Stiles, wake up!"

Stiles flailed a bit, almost falling off the couch.

"Huh? What?" he looked around, rubbing at his eyes. Derek sat on the couch.

"I found something," Hale showed him the package. "It has your name on it," he dropped it in Stiles' lap.

The boy just stared at it for a bit. The envelope rustled pleasantly under his touch as he opened it with shaking fingers – he already recognized his mother's handwriting on it. When the letter was out Stiles' eyes ran over it several times before he looked at Derek, who eyed the package suspiciously. Stiles cleared his throat before reading the letter out loud

_ _May 7th. 1999*_ _

_Dear Stiles, _

_If you are reading this than I am no longer with you and, therefore, cannot tell you all of this in person. You must know, however, that there might come a day in your life – perhaps it has already come – where you will be met with some rather extraordinary hardships; hardships that go far beyond the usual teenage angst and growing-up struggle. Therefore, I present to you this journal. This book is worth a life-time full of research from multiple people, beside myself. In it, you should find all or, at least, most of what you may be looking for. Use it with great care and don't ever let it get into the wrong hands. You must keep it safe, love, or there might be consequence with which no one is prepared to deal._

_My child, please, remain careful. No matter how much time we had, I know it was not nearly enough for which I dearly apologize. Stiles, you are the best thing that ever happened to me, the best thing I ever brought into this world. I am infinitely proud of you and I will forever love you, so very much. _

_With great love,_

_You Mother. _

Stiles stared at the letter some more before Derek finally called to him.

"What do you think this means?" Stiles asked, shakily.

"I don't know," Derek said, feeling uncertain.

Stiles broke the seal.

* * *

><p>*Assuming that Stiles is graduating in 2012, he was born around 1994 (give or take, a year). That would make him about 5 years-old when the letter was composed.<p>

* * *

><p>Just another tidbit because it took me so long to update.<p> 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter 13: Where Answers are Found and Stiles is "all mirth and delight"**

Stiles ripped at the brown paper impatiently, revealing a coarsely bound leather book, as thick as his arm. It had unusual indentations on the cover and spine and was held together by an unusual triangular clasp. Stiles carefully lifted the heavy cover.

"Responsi nam Lupi Notuum," Stiles read from the title page. The writing seemed to be inked in by hand as Stiles passed his palm over it lightly. "What does that mean? I've seen the last two words before, I think it means _werewolf_ but I can't be sure."

"It means _answers for the werewolf*,_" Derek supplied eerily. "Come on, keep going. Is it all in Latin?"

It wasn't. Although the dialect, not to mention, the font changed numerously throughout the book, the language remained mostly English.

"Dude," Stiles exclaimed, leafing through the thick journal. "It's all hand written."

Some blank pages randomly appeared in the journal but, through further examination, Stiles declared that the voids were systematic.

"Look, I think it goes by sections." He said at one point. "Oh, dude, the diagram! The diagram from that book I showed you, it's all copied into here. And here, right here, it says: 'Werewolves are children to the moon. It is Luna that is the punisher and nurturer of all her children.' I was right, Derek, I was right! Everything goes back to the two sides of the moon. We just need to figure out how."

Stiles was practically bouncing from his seat. He would leaf through the journal, find an interesting passage and read it out loud, full of life and excitement. His eyes were shining with glee and every time he'd find something he already knew he would clutch at Derek's arm and point at the passage grinning, all mirth and delight. Derek, however, was growing suspicious.

"Stiles, just hold on, okay. Just wait," Derek urged. "How do we know we can trust this? I mean, come one, how did your mom even have that book? And that letter… It's so… unlikely. How do we know it's not a scam, or a trap, or… a joke?" Derek was getting uncomfortable with the way Stiles' face fell and then turned thoughtful.

"Derek, this is my mom," Stiles began. "It's her handwriting. I'd know it anywhere. I don't know how she got it or what the deal with the letter is. I just know I can trust this. Look there's more Latin here," Stiles said pointing at a single page. The words _Nullus Rememdium nam Pius Homo Hominis*_ ran across it with bright navy ink.

"It's…" Derek choked over his words. "This is my dad's handwriting," he finally finished.

"Are you sure?" it was Stiles' turn to get suspicious. "I mean, you probably haven't seen it in a while."

"I'm sure," Derek said defiantly, letting his fingers brush past the curved letters. "Laura had a letter from dad that survived the fire. We used to read through it when we got lonely."

Stiles surveyed Derek for a moment, taking in his longing gaze, his tensed shoulders.

"This is it, Derek," he said lowering his voice. "This can be what we were looking for. This can save you!"

A tension that Derek couldn't place was gone from Stiles' shoulders and face. The boy was practically bubbling over with excitement. He had a grin plastered over his face from ear to ear and his hands were fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, the corner of the book, the clasp. His eyes were bright and full of joy. It was beautiful.

Derek lowered his hand on Stiles' to stop the fidgeting.

"This could be it," Derek agreed, their faces inches apart. Derek could see every ridge, every line and speck in Stiles' glimmering hazel eyes. He could hear the boy's breathe hitch, his pulse quicken.

"This could be it," Derek repeated, inching closer, ever so slightly. He could feel Stiles' breath, ghosting on his lips; Stiles' warmth, colliding with his cheeks. Derek's wolf was scraping at his soul, wishing, wanting, craving…

Derek leaned back. Stiles cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head uncomfortably.

"You should–"

"We should– "

They both started at the same time.

"Go on," Derek prompted.

"I was saying," Stiles averted his eyes. "You should go and rest. You're not getting any better. I saw you have difficulty moving around now and the fluid in the wound is getting darker. You're pale; maybe you're running a fever. I'll walk you to bed, make you some tea. I'll wake you up for dinner–" Stiles was rumbling.

"Stiles. Hay, Stiles," Derek called. "I'm not running a fever, I'm fine. We should look over the book."

"I'll do it," the boy retorted. "I'll do it, I've already went over so many this should be a breeze. Come on, I'll get you to bed," and so he did.

When Stiles came back with a steaming mug of tea in one hand he cleared the table and lay the journal and his research on in instead, an assembling his position on the floor, legs stretched under the low coffee table. He was all ready to go, there was just one thing left.

Stiles clasped his hands over his hand and banged it several times against the smooth surface.

"What. The. Hell. Was. This?" he chanted between each collision with the wooden table. "What. Is. Going. On?"

* * *

><p>*I have never studied Latin so I'm winging it here, big time. <em>Responsi<em> is a lot more like "responses" rather than "answers" but I was getting desperate. For further elaboration on _Lupi Notuum _please refer to Ch. 9.

**Again, to all or any Latin geeks out there, I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm trying... Very, very hard...

* * *

><p>I am insanely sick right now. Hence, the sudden rise in free time which equates the sudden rise in updates. However, any craziness or nonsense can now be attributed to my Cough-Syrup-High as I am not really in my right mind, at the moment... xDD Anyway, no, I did not forget about this fanfic. So thanks for sticking with me.<p>

Special thanks go out to **Vrukalakos **and **Dereksgirl24** for their especially heartwarming commentary. As for the rest of you, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! You guys are ROCKIN'! Thank you so much for the support, it's amazing :DD


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Oh lookit, what's this? A new chapter? No, this can't be a new chapter? Or can it? :DD  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: In which Stiles is frantic and Derek is bothered<strong>

Stiles was frantically shaking Derek awake. At first, he was just excited to share and discuss his new revelation with Derek but, soon enough, it was no longer about that. Stiles has spent the last ten minutes nudging Derek and calling out to him but Derek didn't stir. It was unlikely for a werewolf, a being that, by nature, was always alert and ready. Stiles was standing on his knees, beside his childhood bed. He was beginning to panic.

"Derek, come on. Derek, wake up, this isn't funny," Stiles said, shaking the wolf almost violently. "Come on!" the desperation reverberated through his voice, running down his trachea and into his lungs. It swarmed into his heart, trickling down his arteries, veins, and capillaries, reaching his hands. Down went his right palm, collapsing loudly with Derek's cheek. The man didn't stir.

"Derek," Stiles lowered his head to the bed. "Please."

The next seven seconds seemed infinite to Stiles but by their end there was a shift in the bed. Stiles lifted his head. Derek's eyes were open and they were blazing with a Maya Blue. As Stiles stared at it, the colour was extinguished back into its usual moss green and Derek spoke:

"Time for dinner, yet?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Stiles said, feeling like he just fell victim to some really-not-funny prank.

"Stiles?" there was something in the boy's voice that made Derek forget he even mentioned dinner.

"I've spent the last hour trying to wake you up. I shook you, I called out for you, I screamed at you, I even slapped you!"

"You slapped me?" Derek quipped in, Stiles didn't even stop talking.

"You didn't even stir," Stiles was grasping at the sheets to keep from shaking, his eyes cast downwards. "I thought you won't wake up this time; that this was it and we ran out of time. I thought everything was over, I thought we were done."

Derek sat up in a fluent motion that was rather uncharacteristic to his current predicament.

"Stiles," he called. "What _did_ wake me up?"

Stiles mumbled something under his breath, seemingly embarrassed but the wolf caught it:

"I said please."

Derek paused, considering the situation. Stiles didn't move until the wolf rubbed at the boy's buzz-cut.

"So is it time for dinner, yet?"

Stiles seemed to snap out of his trance as he lifted his head and hurried to his feet.

"Yes, and no," he supplied, helping Derek out of bed.

Dinner was ready but there was something much more important to discuss beside it. When Derek was seated and the table was made, Stiles sat down, picking up his fork.

"Okay," he started as Derek took a bite of his food. "At first I started in the beginning and went over a good chunk of the journal but that didn't really lead me anywhere. I learned a bunch about werewolf origin, lore, mythology, what's real out there, what's fake but I didn't come up with anything too substantial that would help us in our current situation so I went by chapters next. There are a couple that seemed pretty helpful. One was _Doleo: What hurts a werewolf. _That was helpful because it had little notes about what sections of the _Remedium ac Salus _chapter – that's the one with remedies and rituals – would be useful in each case. By the way, did you know that a werewolf cannot survive without his mate but a mate can survive without his werewolf? That's pretty cruel, don't you think? Anyway, another helpful chapter that I found was the _Infestus: In Case of Emergency_ chapter but I'm getting off topic here. So I started leafing through the pages but it was almost time for dinner so I didn't spend too much time on it. Then, when I was frying some bacon," Derek stirred; there was no bacon on the table.

"Yeah, I burned it, okay," Stiles remarked, "Pay attention. So, anyway, I was frying some bacon and I figured, while everything is cooking I can leaf through some more of those chapters and I got so caught up that I didn't even notice the bacon was burnt to a crisp and the water in the spaghetti was running low and then I found this one thing," Stiles moved his long abandoned plate to the side and spread the journal on the empty space, leafing through it. "It won't solve all of our problems but I think it can slow down the infection from spreading until we come up with a real solution. Here it is," he ran his hand over the binding to straighten out the curled paper and turned it around so the journal faced Derek. Hale leaned in.

It looked like a recipe. The title read in thick cursive ink, _Dragon's Blood Ointment_, and Derek almost laughed – dragons don't exist, let alone their blood. There were diagrams on the side of the ingredients list. _Thirteen drops, sweet almond oil; two drops, bitter almond oil; one ounce, dried, powdered hazel root; two hundred grams moonflower petals; one rosemary bunch; fifty milliliters, water; twenty milliliters, vitis vinifera tea; two ounces Dragon's Blood powder._ Derek stared, he stared at the pages, then at Stiles, then back at the pages. Stiles didn't seem to notice Derek's confusion, he was entirely absorbed. He turned the journal back towards him.

"Look, here, it says 'mixture can only be prepared after sunset, on the night between Monday and Sunday'. It's Monday tomorrow. Now is about five o'clock, right? We should still make it."

"Stiles," Derek called and Stiles finally saw it, the confusion, the hesitation. Derek didn't think this will end well, didn't see how it could but Stiles just laughed, high and clear like church bells, so happy, so full of life that Derek forgot what he was so worried about, forgot to be mad at Stiles for laughing in such a situation, forgot their predicament even.

"Sorry, sorry, here," Stiles left the room and came back with an herbalism tome they both discarded in the very beginning. "Okay, look, this recipe is legit, I can prove it," Stiles leafed through the tome. "Here we go, remember my whole theory about the planets, well, it all makes sense. Here, Almond; _Prunus amygdalus;_ under the influence of the moon; bitter oil contains the poison cyanide; sweet oil is a soothing remedy for a cough and is used in confectionery. See? Two sides, again. Now here: Hazel; _Corglus avellana; _under the influence of Mercury and the Moon. Next, Moonflower, that's sort of self explanatory, it is said to bloom only in the light of the moon. Rosemary is under the dominion of the sun which gives life to the moon's shine, it has been used in many remedies from colds to headaches to even the prevention of bad dreams. Dragon's blood is a sort of cure-all. It's a resin that is obtained from a Dracaena plant which is also under the dominion of the sun. This seems like our best guess right now and if we won't do it now we might not have the chance," Stiles explained getting a bit frantic.

So, okay, yeah, it all seemed pretty reasonable now that Stiles explained everything but Derek couldn't shake the suspicion that the recipe couldn't be trusted. He couldn't explain what it was but it nagged at him with great ferociousness.

"Okay what about this?" Derek pointed into the journal.

"Vitis vinifera?" Stiles asked and then shrugged. "That's just grape vine."

"Right," Derek nodded, "where are we gonna get all this stuff?"

"Ah," Stiles said as if he waited for that question. Knowing Stiles, he probably did, too. "That's the best part. Another reason why I chose to come here is because the town here is pretty strange. You can get all sorts of things here you can never get in Beacon Hills, I thought about it all."

And Derek knew he did, Stiles thought of everything, always. Every time there was trouble Stiles was there also, with a plan ready to go, thinking six steps ahead. He was really amazing.

"I'm going into town now before the sun sets. I'll get back in a bit and then we can get to work. You just rest, okay?" Stiles was already leading Derek to the couch in the living room and copying his "shopping list" out and rushing out the door. Derek picked up the journal to occupy himself with something other than Stiles and the ache in his heart. His heart wasn't letting it go, though. Something bothered Derek and he couldn't say what. Stiles' jeep rounded a bend and went out of earshot.

* * *

><p>Before you all start with the crazy "where have you been, you sneaky, stinky, dirty little frog toe!" and such like let me just say that I have missed this story so, so very, very much! You all have no idea! I missed it so much and I, more than anyone, just want those two to get on with it and be happy already but life doesn't work that way and it's never that easy so why should it be that easy for those two? It shouldn't, it can't be.<p>

Summer is almost here so I should have some more time for this, soon. I hope you like this chapter even though there isn't much going on here.

Cheerio!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter 15: In which a Peculiar Herbologist Makes and Appearance****  
><strong>

Some buildings stand through the sands of time as if by miracle alone. Cracks filled with sands themselves – like the papery features of an old man who sifted through many of the world's grains – they stand as if to amaze the human soul with their persistent existence. And it's not like the world doesn't try to tear them down, because, hell, the world tries to tear everything down and it's evident in the gaps of the brick, the cracks on the window sills, the chips in the paint, and the screech in the hinges but, somehow, buildings like the one Stiles currently stood in front of just kept on fighting the world off, standing in their respective places as if they intended to stay there for a million years more and nothing could change their mind.

Stiles stood in front of the chipped door, looking up at the ancient, wooden sign that swung slowly on two rickety, iron chains. The windows were dark and smeared with grime but he was sure that the shop was still open. Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs with the cool, fresh air. _Alrighty_, he thought to himself, _in we go._ He took a step forward and pushed at the heavy door. Albeit stiff, it gave way under his weight and he stumbled in. When he finally caught his footing and straightened himself, the strong smell of herbs and flowers hit his nose, making his nostrils itch unpleasantly, just as – he still remembered – it always did. He took a look around. The place was dimly lit as the gray sun struggled to penetrate through the layers of dust and grime on the windows falling through the air in wispy yellow strands, illuminating the dancing particles of dust. The rest of the space was illuminated with dozens of candles, ranging in all shapes and sizes – mostly white and the traditional milk-and-honey yellow of raw wax – that gave the place an eerie, cramped feel. Light hemlock shelves lined the walls, housing jars and boxes of all sizes and shapes. Some had covers and some were sealed with pieces of hemp, tape, or even wax, mostly red or raw; some stood open and some were draped over with pieces of dark cloth; some housed liquids; some, substances of grainy consistency, dry leaves, pastes, and oils. In front of him, lower shelves stood, cutting the room vertically with its tattered, milky lumber. Mismatched baskets were stacked on a low table to his left. He took one. The counter was empty but the back room door was ajar. Stiles took a piece of paper from his pocket and hesitantly stepped forward, looking at the jars and baskets in front of him. He lifted up a jar about two inches tall, letting the light from the candles shine through its' green, murky content, illuminating it.

"Welcome back, Stiles," said a hoarse, female voice behind Stiles. The boy jumped, turning around so fast the tiny jar dropped from his hands but the noise of breaking glass never followed. In front of him stood a tiny, round woman in a faded flowery apron over her dotted sarafan. Her heap of white, dishevelled curls – now reminiscent of cotton candy – stuck in different directions, framing her round face and giving her a wild look that was further emphasized with a pair of thick, round glasses that rested on her tiny, speckled nose. Her round, enlarged eyes, although once emerald green, were now more faded than the flowery apron. Her lips were pale and stretched in a small, unpleasant smile that showed off her tiny, sharp teeth. The long fingers of her shrivelled up hands held onto the bottle Stiles just dropped.

"Ms. Serafina," Stiles stammered out, wondering how a woman so old and tiny could move so quietly and quickly.

"It's nice to see you again, little one," said she, looking up to him and suddenly hugging him tightly around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. Uncomfortable, Stiles froze in place.

"Yeah, it's been a while," Stiles agreed, awkwardly trying to pat the woman on her back and in so hoping it'll make her let go faster. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. No one else did."

"Finally found your way back," she said cryptically and so quietly Stiles barely caught it, though she quickly changed the subject:

"They are all fools, then!" She exclaimed. "How's the Sherriff?"

"He's good, I guess," Stiles mused. "How have you been?"

"Awful," she said bluntly, "my bones are killing me. Don't get old, young one," she advised, turning around and walking towards the counter in tiny, hurried steps.

"I'll remember that," murmured Stiles under his breath, following her towards the counter. The woman momentarily disappeared behind the high tabletop just to appear again, a moment later, now almost Stiles' height.

"What can I help you with, today?" she asked with a sudden, business-like manner. Stiles slid his piece of paper over. The old lady adjusted her giant spectacles and read over the list:

_ List_

_Sweet almond oil_

_Bitter almond oil_

_1 oz, dried hazel root_

_200 gm, moonflower petals_

_Rosemary bunch_

_Grape tea_

_2 oz, Dragon's Blood powder_

As she further progressed down the list, her eyes narrowed.

"So it has finally come to this," she mumbled again, under her breath before bursting into loud screeching laughter. Stiles winced unpleasantly from the sudden noise that tore through the silent shop. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped, and now she was looking straight at him, her unnaturally large, round eyes piercing into his. Stiles wanted to look away but didn't, feeling a challenge in her eyes. After a moment, she leaped from the step she was standing on, behind the counter.

"Follow me," she commanded and Stiles did.

For the next twenty minutes, she ran up and down the thin isles of the shop, occasionally dropping something into Stiles' woven basket mumbling under her breath: "this should do it" or "ah, here it is, this one is just fine". While Stiles was trying to figure out how she was able to move around so quick, the woman dropped the last of the ingredients in and led him back to the counter.

Spreading the items on the counter, she punched numbers into her antique, brass cash register (a legacy from her grandfather, Stiles knew).

"$25.50," she informed, folding her arms on the counter expectantly. Stiles passed her the cash and got a brown paper bag in return.

"Thank you, Ms. Serafina," said Stiles stopping at the door and turning around. Her piercing gaze still stuck to him like resin. The milky, pistachio green of her eyes caught the warm, chestnut brown of his and held them for a long moment.

"It won't help, you know," she said, suddenly, not looking away. "Not in the long run, it won't. Your wolf needs real help, help herbs can't give a wolf. Bring your wolf to me, Stiles. Bring your wolf here or he will die soon, very soon and nothing will be left for you."

Her eyes seemed empty, as if they were looking through him, as if in a trance. There was immense sadness in her voice, a sadness that seemed to suck all the warmth and light out of the dusty shop, out of the old woman, out of Stiles. The boy shivered and blinked, the woman blinked, suddenly just as surprised as Stiles at what she said and the fact she said it.

"Wha–" he started, getting very confused. All of a sudden, there was a blur of movement and the light and warmth were back. The little, old woman was standing half an arm's length away from him, ushering him outside.

"We're closed now," she said in a whole new tone – quick and trembling – holding the door open with one hand and pushing at his chest with the other.

"Wait, Ms. Serafina, please," Stiles begged, grasping at straws. "I need help."

"Come, come soon," she repeated mysteriously, as the crack between the wall and the door got progressively smaller. The little figure of a woman was gone, the neon _OPEN_ sign – most likely the only modern piece of technology in the building – turned off, Stiles was left alone in the empty street, breathing in the yellowing leaves and wet pavement.

After standing under the rickety _Apothecary: Herbs and Spices_ sign a little longer, Stiles adjusted his hold on the paper bag and turned away. It was only when his Jeep hit the gravel road back that, at last, the red and blue neon of the sign illuminated the gray asphalt again, falling over it in blurry streaks and blotches, turning on and off, on and off, on, off, blinking at the empty street as if in revelation. Margaret Serafina stood on the little bench behind her counter, holding her round head in her shrivelled hands and – for the first time in forty-eight years – her ancient eyes bled bitter waters and sands of salt.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter 16: In Which Stiles is Scared and Derek can Feel It**

Stiles' shoulders were hunched tiredly and his eyes were exceptionally wide when he stepped into the Cabin. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaning on it and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

_Come soon._ Ms. Serafina's words still echoed in his head, bouncing off the inside of his cranium, _Bring your wolf here or he will die soon... he will die soon... will die soon... will die..._

"Stiles?" a familiar voice ripped Stiles out of his memories; he breathed easier. Derek was standing in front of Stiles, holding onto his side. His difficulty to stand was evident. A great sadness rushed over Stiles in a winter gale, making him shiver and shut his eyes again, for a moment. Truth be told, Stiles never liked Derek Hale, brooding, dark, mysterious, menacing werewolf and pack master, fighter and survivor, enemy and ally. But... dying seemed such an unfortunate end to this story, such an injustice, after all the fighting, all the clawing and ripping, and bleeding, and screaming, and running, after **all** they've been through. After **all** they've endured... the mere idea of Derek, this hard-as-stone, proud-as-fool, stubborn-as-rain, good-as-sun of a man dying... It made Stiles shiver, it made him scared.

Stiles shook his head and smiled slowly.

"Hullo!" he greeted, lifting the paper bag. "I come bearing gifts!"

"You okay?" Derek asked, dismissing Stiles' gesture.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm peachy!" Stiles lied, passing him in through the kitchen. Derek's ears perked up. A silent plea hung in the air; the wolf let it go – no one was "peachy", at present...

"What have you been up to?"

Derek nodded towards the journal that was open on the kitchen island. Stiles glanced at it blindly.

"I should really take Latin in college," he added as an afterthought and let the paper bag drop on the counter, taking things out and laying them around the journal.

"Yeah," Derek agreed, watching the human closely. Stiles unceremoniously flipped through the journal, not lifting his head.

"Stiles..." Derek began uncertainly, worriedly, feeling the pressure piling back on Stiles' shoulders, not liking it one bit. Stiles span around, leaning back on the counter and looking up at the kitchen clock.

"It's almost nine, now," he said. "I think we should begin at twelve."

"Yeah, okay," Derek nodded quietly, still looking at Stiles intently. The boy turned around, the wolf moved, slowly, fluidly, smoothly. Derek hugged Stiles from behind, resting his hands firmly around Stiles waist, keeping him close, holding onto him with all he's got left in him. Stiles was supposed to stiffen. He was supposed to get uncomfortable and rigid and awkward... but he didn't. He relaxed into the hug, holding onto Derek's arms tightly, breathing slowly. Derek hunched forward a bit resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay," his voice was quiet and hoarse and full of pain and sadness but also of hope, hope that passed on to Stiles. Stiles felt strong, empowered, encouraged, as if it all flowed from Derek, passing through his fingertips right into Stiles' heart.

"It's okay," Derek repeated, tightening his hold over the boy and feeling Stiles' hold on his arms tighten in return. Tears rolled from Stiles' eyes then, leaving salty paths on his white cheeks.

"I don't want you to die," Stiles said quietly through the salt and water. In his surprise, Derek let his hold go a little, looking in front of him, processing. Stiles let go of Derek's arms completely and turned around, looking up at Derek. The wolf finally caught up to what was said.

"I won't," he promised, looking down at Stiles. "I won't. We'll figure this out and then get back and fix everything with Scott and the hunters. We'll be fine."

Stiles wanted to believe it but... he was just so _scared_. Derek hugged him close again; Stiles let his arms hug the wolf back.

"We're going to be okay," Derek said again, really believing it this time.

"We're going to be okay," Stiles repeated, feeling like he could actually believe it, too. He did not marvel at the idea that somewhere along the line it went from being just about Derek to being about them both. There was comfort in that, comfort Stiles needed, comfort that seemed to make everything a little more bearable.

They stood like that for a long time, lending each other strength, gaining strength just from standing like that, together. Stiles didn't question it and Derek didn't bother thinking about it too much; it was just there, between them, belonging to them and, for now, that was all that was needed.

Eventually, as if on cue, they fell back, and went back to their respective places. There was no awkwardness between them, no misunderstanding, no questioning, as if nothing happened, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that should be discussed. Stiles went back to studying the journal; Derek leaned on the counter, taking note of everything that was strewn across it. Each breathed easier, each felt better, lighter, more confident in their eventual success.

Stiles was preparing bowls and spoons and pots, measuring out ingredients, laying it all down in front of him, preparing. All that was left now was to wait for that fateful hour of midnight. They waited.

* * *

><p>Hello, hello, to any followers that are still left... This took me so long that I decided to post two chapters!<p>

This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one but I think it's ten times more important.

I like the previous chapter for all the detail and interesting wording, it was really fun to write and introducing a new characters, as challenging as it was describing her precisely as I saw her (a bit odd, a bit wild, and a lot unlikely), it was also interesting and very fun but in this chapter... I think this is the first time Stiles realizes that Derek could die. It's also the first time anything about the outside world (Scott and the hunters) is mentioned which is really important because, really, they need to be getting back ASAP, they need to defeat Peter. They have had absolutely no contact with Scott and the rest, what-so-ever. As far as they are concerned Scott might be dying right now. Now this is not to say that Derek and Stiles never _thought_ of all that but saying it out-loud makes everything (as with Derek's possible death) ten times more real. This is the first time all of those new realizations actually sink in. Stiles knows now how **_really_** important it is to get a move on for the sake of both Derek and Scott.

Not to mention that fateful shift into "We", I mean come on people, this is getting a little too obvious now!

Seeing how the second season turned out, I'm shifting my story on the time-line into the second season, closer to the end. Now that Peter is back, the hunters realize what the true threat is and they're putting aside their differences with the wolves to fight him together. What has become of the Kanima, Jackson, Lydia, Gerard Argent, and Scott and Allyson's relationship will be mentioned so stay tuned, I already have a plan... Sort of..

* * *

><p>Amazing thanks go out to an <strong>Anonymous<strong> reviewer that may or may not be suffering from withdrawal and **whoisaugust **who was more (**way more**) than kind to me in his or her praise. Thank you both so much, you keep me writing!

OMG, I'm getting so excited, everything is so close now! HOLLYMOTHEROFTEENAGEMUTANTNI NJATURTLESOMEONEHELPMETHISIS GREAT!

Cheerio, lovely people who - after all this time - still read this dusty piece of fan-fiction!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter 17: In Which Stiles and Derek Fight**

Stiles was seated on the floor of the living-room, assembled in his usual position: legs stretched under the coffee table, back resting on the couch, arms outstretched before him on the tabletop, a book lying open between them. Only this time his head was lolled back, eyes shut, chest rising and falling peacefully. Derek woke up a while ago but was yet to open his eyes. He relished in the quietness of the wooden house, filled with only the sleeping noise of Stiles' breathe, down at the foot of the sofa he currently resided upon. When Derek finally did open his eyes and took a look at the origin of his comfort he began to question the comfort of Stiles, himself. Derek reached his hand to nudge Stiles awake before suddenly retracting it. He wasn't sure what was it in him that made him change his mind but instead of gently nudging Stiles awake Derek shoved at the side of the boy's head with his foot.

"Oomph!" Stiles yelped, almost toppling over. "What the hell?"

"It's almost twelve," Derek explained from his place on the couch.

"Yeah, but why so rude," Stiles rubbed the side of his head, seeming a bit disoriented. Derek didn't answer. He couldn't really answer. A month ago, running his foot into the boy's face to wake him up was a usual deal but one had to be completely brainless not to notice that something was altered between them. Maybe he was just trying to avoid the transformation, at least until better timing. Maybe he just needed some normalcy. Whatever it was, Derek couldn't think about it any longer. His wound was bothering him with a newfound power. He latched at his side hoping Stiles won't notice. Stiles did.

"Derek," he started, looking at the clock over the mantle. In the darkness he could barely make out the figures: Fifteen to twelve. _Enough time,_ he figured, and went to get the first aid kit, again. Derek followed him with his eyes, breathing hard.

Stiles came back. Derek, already familiar with the procedure, lifted his shirt and moved his arms out of the way. The wound looked horrific. The skin around it turned gray-and-blue and little, black lines – as if a spider web – covered the skin, extending from the point of impact. The edges of the laceration were jugged and the wound itself was filled with a sticky, dark-emerald fluid. Amongst that blackness, the silver arrowhead was showing, as if a beacon in the middle of a dark sea. Stiles wanted to cry as he carefully cleaned the wound up.

"Stiles," Derek started. "We have to... consider the possibility that I may not survive this."

Stiles couldn't believe his ears.

"Are you serious?" Stiles exclaimed. "Three hours ago, you were the one telling me everything is going to be okay, we're going to be okay. You said it! And now this?!"

"Stiles," Derek winced at the boy's tone. "I still believe that."

"Liar!" Stiles blurted out. He heard it, felt the lie graze his own heart, hurt it. "You're such a liar! You don't believe any of that crap! You don't believe I can do it! You're ready to die!" Stiles was standing now. "I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Calm down, Stiles," Derek ordered but the boy heard none of it.

"You don't get to do that, Derek," Stiles informed the wolf. "Go fuck yourself."

Stiles left the room in a rush, leaving Derek's wound un-bandaged. Derek sighed. He expected Stiles to get upset, even mad but perhaps not to that particular degree. He was lying there, on the couch and thinking, listening, hurting. After about ten minutes Stiles strode back just as fast as he marched out and leaned down to finish his work. Derek knew better than to start talking again, it was too soon; Stiles needed time. When the bandaging was all in place Stiles left the living room; it was time to get to work.

Everything was ready for Stiles when he turned on the light in the kitchen, coloured in warm hues from the light. He stepped towards the island and rested his palms on the countertop, leaning on it, letting his head drop. Everything was getting so far out of control. Stiles worried about Derek, a lot but he also worried about Scott and Lydia and maybe even Jackson. Furthermore, he wasn't sure he could do it any longer, he **really** wasn't sure if he could help Derek, at all. He never questioned himself before, mostly because there was no time for all this self-doubt; it was do or die! But this time everything was different, this time he felt way over his head. Stiles took a deep breath and listened. He could swear he was hearing Derek's heavy breathing.

Stiles shook his head and got to work, taking a small pot and filling it up with water and grape tea, adding in moonflower metals and standing it on the stove, letting it boil. When the water was roiling over itself, Stiles lowered the heat and added a rosemary bunch, letting it simmer. While the water was simmering, he lay out Dragon's Blood on a metal surface and lighted the powder with a candle*, letting the flame burn down. He powdered the hazel root with a mortar and pestle and mixed that in a bowl with Dragon's Blood. By that time, the water had been simmering for about ten minutes now. Stiles disposed of the rosemary and filtered out the petals from the liquid. In a separate bowl, he mashed the petals into a smooth paste and added ten drops of sweet almond oil. Another three drops he added to the Dragon's Blood mixture which was followed by two drops of bitter almond oil. About ten milliliters of the tea that was left from the filtering he added to the petal mixture. Now, the two bowls stood in front of him, ready to be mixed. Stiles rubbed at his cheek tiredly. God, he was so tired. All that was left now was to gradually mix the petal mixture into the Dragon's Blood. He did that and closed his eye, holding his breath. The mixture was supposed to hold its' red colour if it were to be successful.*

Slowly, Stiles opened his eyes.

"Oh, thank god," he let his arms fold over the counter and rested his head on them. The paste was a bright, vermillion red.

* * *

><p>*Yeah, I totally stole that From Episode 4:Magic Bullet and I don't care ;)<br>**Just so this is perfectly clear, I made that recipe up. You can probably for sure get all the ingredients and try and make it but I swear, nothing will come of it. Also, bitter Almond oil may contain from 4 to 9 mg of hydrogen cyanide per almond which is really dangerous. Like, deadly dangerous. The cyanide must be removed before consumption but still... Please, please, please be careful, and at the very least, remember that you are (most likely) not a werewolf. You've been warned.

* * *

><p>I'm on a roll here, my friends. Chapters are doing good. Hopefully I can keep this up.<p>

Special Thanks go out to **gypsydancer529 **who seems to enjoy Ms. Serafina just as much as I do and to **Dereksgirl24 **who seems to be this stories most devout follower and who is still with us, and is still reviewing, after all that time!  
>Thank you both! You keep me writing! :))<p>

* * *

><p>I LOVE THIS STORY, AND STILES, AND even DEREK (sometimes)! :DDDDDDDD<p>

Cheerio! :))


	18. Chapter Eighteen

When Stiles finally recovered enough, he lifted his head and took another look. The colour remained the same bright red. He decided to check the consistency then, using a butter knife. The ointment glistened with the oils on the knife, keeping its' smooth texture. When Stiles was absolutely sure that the ointment was successful and, more importantly, real he transferred it into a small jar with a lid that screwed on and rushed into the living room, as if afraid it will disappear.

"Got it. It turned out great. Look!" Stiles exclaimed, pushing the jar under Derek's nose the moment he stepped close enough. Derek slowly rose into a sitting position.

"I know it did," Derek said.

"How? Can you smell it?"

"I know," Derek said simply, "because I knew you could do it, I knew you'd get it just right."

Stiles rubbed at the back of his head uncomfortably, averting his eyes and thinking back to the last conversation they had, not sure what to say. Derek sniffed at the contents of the jar, carefully.

"Smells good," he added. Stiles was glad for the change of topic.

"Let's try it, then," he said, excited. Guiding Derek to lie down, Stiles carefully* lifted his shirt. He peeled off the bandages, biting his lip at the wound. He wasn't sure if it was just him or if the wound _actually_ got worse by the minute.

Stiles dipped two fingers into the red, glistening substance, amazed at how quickly it has cooled down. Then, he touched the two fingers to an area of Derek's skin, right by the wound. Derek hissed, involuntarily shrinking away. Stiles withdrew his hand.

"Hurts?" he asked, concerned.

"Cold," Derek smiled. Stiles nodded, bringing his hand back and rubbing the ointment around the edges of the wound and out, colouring the wolf's skin red. When all the pigment was absorbed into Derek's skin and none was left on the surface, both – boy and wolf – froze, waiting. Stiles wasn't sure what he expected but, somehow, he hoped that there would be some instant change. He waited, holding his breath.

"Do you feel anything different?" the boy asked after almost five minutes of complete silence.

"Not rea–" Derek started but the words caught in his throat. He grabbed Stiles' hand: "Stiles!"

Stiles was going to ask but before he could, he was already seeing it himself. In front of his eyes, as if it grew alive, the black web of lines was moving, retracting into the wound. In less than seconds, the skin around Derek's injury was entirely free of any black capillaries and it even regained some of its' natural colour. By that point, it was Stiles who was grasping at Derek's hand with intense strength.

"It worked," Stiles said and then much louder and smiling at Derek from ear to ear: "It worked!"

Derek smiled back, evidently, just as relieved as Stiles. That night, Stiles slept between the wall and Derek's side, under the wolf's arm, peaceful. Derek breathed easier, the pain gone from his side.

Stiles woke up to a loud groan. His eyes flew open before his brain even had the chance to turn on. The growl sounded again and this time Stiles could see it came from Derek who was holding onto his side and grinding his teeth, eyes closed shut.

"Fuck," Derek swore through his teeth, not opening his eyes. Stiles jumped over Derek, landing on the floor, at the bed's side. He was trying to pry the wolf's hand from his side. It wasn't working.

"Derek," Stiles held Derek's face in both his hands, calling to him, begging. "Derek, I need to see it."

Derek finally let go of his side and Stiles could lift his shirt, peeling away the bandages. He gasped at what he saw. The wound grew darker, the skin around it grayer. The web of capillaries was back, now a vicious mix of black and red.

"God damn it," Stiles swore, angry.

It took him almost twenty minutes to haul Derek into the back of his jeep and no time at all to make a decision. The jeep hit the gravel with violent ferocity; Stiles never considered why he could see so well in the dark, there was no time for it.

The street was still dark when the jeep stopped and grew quiet in front of the crumbling building. A human boy pulled a wolf in human disguise out of the back seat and beat viciously at the old door.

"Ms. Serafina! Open up! Please! I need your help," screamed the desperate voice up at the building, struggling to hold the wolf upright.

After what seemed like an eternity of beating and yelling, the door finally opened. From the forming crack, peeked a disheveled Margaret Serafina, dressed in her nightgown and green, fuzzy slippers, with a candle in hand.

"Stiles," she said and the boy couldn't tell if she was surprised to see him or not.

"Please," Stiles drew out, "you said you could help, please."

Without another word, Serafina opened the door further, letting them in, leading them around the counter and into the back room. The room looked a little like a kitchen that was never really used for proper cooking. In the middle of it stood a big table with a wooden tabletop.

"Here," Serafina pushed the candle into Stiles' hand and took hold of the front of Derek's shirt. Now, you may not believe this but Stiles could swear, by Derek's life, no less, that it was true. Suddenly, the weight was lifted off of the boy's shoulders and he witnessed how, with unbelievable strength, the little old woman lifted big, bad, Derek Hale off the floor and onto the wooden tabletop. Stiles, shocked by what he just saw, didn't hear Serafina at first but, eventually, when a metal spoon collided painfully with the side of his skull, he finally heard her.

"Stiles!" the woman barked the order. "Light the candles!"

Stiles complied right away, rubbing at his head. When all the candles he could find around the room were lit, he came back to Serafina's side. She, in turn, has already lifted his shirt, sniffing at the wolf's wound suspiciously.

"Ms. Serafina?" began Stiles, carefully.

"Drop the Ms, Stiles," she instructed him, thinking aloud. "The wolfsbane in the arrowhead is fighting the ointment. Have you brought it with you?"

Stiles did, nodding in answer and rushing to get it. When he got back he felt Derek's growl rising up his spine before he heard it.

"You foolish boy," Serafina raged. "Do _not_ leave the room from now on," she said, pressing her palm into Derek's side, around the wound. Derek hissed, thrashed.

"Ointment," she ordered, not letting the pressure around the lesion drop. Stiles struggled to unscrew the jar. She dipped two fingers into the red, glistening mass and then deep into the black resin of Derek's wound. The wolf let out a throaty growl that was more like a human's scream than a wolf's snarl. Serafina was still holding him down with the palm of her right hand, through all the thrashing and screaming. Stiles found Derek's hand and held it, tight, leaving tiny, crescent shaped indentations in the wolf's skin. Derek seemed to quiet down.

"Stiles," he breathed out in delirium, making Stiles question his consciousness. Stiles braved a look at Derek's wound. It was clear, all the black liquid gone from it and its' surroundings, letting the natural reds of a common wound take residence. He let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

"What are we going to do?" asked Stiles, not tearing his eyes away from Derek's wound. It seemed alive to him, like a separate, living, breathing organism, ready to turn vicious against its' host.

"We'll get rid of the arrowhead," Serafina told him as if it was common sense, looking at the boy intently. _I was right,_ she thought and so she was. She was right all along...

* * *

><p>*Is it just me or has Stiles been lifting Derek's shirt a lot lately and not getting anything out of it, too? ;)<p>

* * *

><p>So... This was supposed to be two chapters in three excerpts but I decided that they would've been waay too short that way so I just put them together.<p>

Pretty intense stuff going on here, if I may say so myself ;) Hopefully I can keep on writing because I am _really_ excited about what's coming up next with those three, especially what is up with Serafina.. :D

* * *

><p>Special thanks go out to <strong>gypsydancer529<strong> who seemed just as worked up over the last chapter as I was and to **Rosejoanna**who seemed to be rooting and praying for the ointment to stay red alongside both Stiles and myself. You guys keep me writing, thank you SO MUCH!

Stay tuned, lovely readers! Cheerio! :)))


	19. Announcment

Dear readers and TeenWolf lovers,

I'm sorry to annoy you with this but I need your help. There has been a piece of Fanfiction that I have read and then lost. It begins after the initial death of Peter Hale. Stiles is very distraught by everything that has been going. He's walking to school one morning when he runs into Derek who's in a rush to find Scott. In the process of (very loudly and rudely) questioning stiles he pretty much sort of assaults the boy and then tells him he'll give him a ride to school. Stiles hesitates but gets in anyway after Derek threatens to leave. It's sort of mopey and Stiles is a pretty weak character but it is essential that I find this fanfiction because it has inspired me to start writing another piece, a piece that (in my humble opinion) far exceeds Cabin Fever in the quality of writing and I am desperate to get back to it but for some reason I can't remember my initial idea for it (I don't remember what course I wanted it to take after the initial scenes) and I'm hoping that reading the piece again will freshen up my mind and will lead me in the appropriate direction.

Please, you have all been amazing so far and I hope you will take a couple minutes to search through your memory and see if you have run into something similar on this website (I've read it on here, yes).

I thank you and apologize for taking up your time.

I will delete this announcement as soon as I will find the piece I am looking for. Do not worry, I'm still keeping strong with Cabin Fever as I am determined to finish it. As for the other piece, I make no promises of its' completion or publishing. For now it is only a piece of writing I am desperate to continue for my own benefit.

Thank you again and have a great evening,

Jupiter.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter 20: Where Derek is awake and lucid, Serafina assumes the role of Gossip and  
>an Stiles finally finds at least one answer.<span>**

Stiles **thinks** Derek is resting in his old room but when he walks down the corridor towards it he hears voices coming from under the door.

"Yes," Derek says, "I had my suspicions."

"You foolish, selfish boy," Serafina seems to really like that word, "you could've been up and walking eons ago!"

"I was hoping there was another way," Derek says calmly, adding: "and I have very little idea of how all of it works. Not to mention, **he** has no idea."

"Oh boy, oh boy," Stiles hears the old woman. It was decided that it was wiser to move Derek back to the cabin. Well... Serafina decided and then packed an ancient, square suit case full of all sorts of herbs and pastes and powders and followed them on her rickety *1962 C10 Chevy truck, jasmine-yellow paint peeling and scattering all the way behind her.

"Oh boy, oh boy," the woman keeps on mumbling. "Stiles, honey!"

She sounds so motherly that when Stiles finally recovers from the shock of being found out he still has trouble believing it is actually Margaret Serafina talking to him.

"Stiles, dear," she repeats, "Come in please."

Stiles walks in, worried at her sudden change of tone and slightly ashamed, not for eavesdropping, rather for being caught. Derek eyes him curiously.

"It's the arrowhead, love," Serafina tells him just as motherly, as if reading his mind. "It dulls your senses, the wretched thing." She is seated in a chair right across from where Derek is lying. Her hand pats at a spot by Derek's hip. "Sit, child," she almost recommends. Stiles sits down.

"How much did you hear?" Derek asks cautiously. Something dangerous seems to hang in the air as if the next conversation – if Derek and Ms. Serafina are to decide to spill it – would change Stiles' life, just in case it isn't jumbled enough already.

"You said: 'yes, I had my suspicions'," Stiles repeats, dutifully. Serafina and Derek share a glance and Stiles' forehead creases. "Are you serious playing this game?" he exclaims, fiercely, "What is it? Spill!"

Maybe they both just figure it is a good idea to tell or maybe it's the _something_ in his voice that turns them into eager and willing participants, it's really impossible to tell. Serafina straightens her back, adding a diminutive inch to her minuscule height.

"Stiles," Derek begins, "this is sort of complicated." Stiles holds himself in check, letting them both get their thoughts together; prepare himself for the worse – what must follow will obviously be hard on all of them. Neither seems to be able to find the right words to begin.

Finally, Serafina sighs deeply. Grave sadness clouds her eyes. It's almost as if she is no longer with them, in the room but far, far away, somewhere in her memories. Then, she at last opens her mouth and speaks so, so softly: "When I was thirteen years old a new family moved into *Brampton. They moved into a big house on the outskirts of town. It was a big family; many brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, grandparents. No one ever moved to Brampton, it was such an oddity. In the beginning, the town's kids would sneak into the forest to steal a peek. They were such an peculiar family, the *Howards. That September, the hallways of our school practically filled with them. There was twins *Brigitte and Natalie, Bo, Mick, Sam, and Jimmy. And those were just the elementary and middle school aged ones. They were all so different you couldn't tell they were all related until the teacher called out 'Howard' in class but something was oddly similar in them all, too, I could tell, everyone could tell. They sat at a table at lunch together, as if sheltering themselves from the outside world. They weren't estranged from everyone else, just came into less contact. When spoken to, they were all pleasant and even fun to be around. Some played sports, some joined clubs but by the end of the day they would wait for each other and walk home together. Their best friends were each other, their study partners were each other, their gossip came from each other. They seemed to share a bond no one understood and no person in the world could break.

"But eventually, everyone forgot what it was like to not have the Howards around, they just became another part of Brampton and everyone took their strangeness as a given, a normalcy.

"I was seventeen and in my last year of High School when I went into the forest looking for a rare mushroom that emits very special spores" – Stiles wasn't even surprised at that seemingly ridiculous activity – "when I got lost. We didn't have any of that technology-mumbo-jumbo back then. It was October and the sun started going down. I started getting very scared, already thinking that I would never find my way home when I heard shuffling somewhere behind me; heavy, quick footsteps over the dump ground. I turned around and called out, asking if someone was there but all I got in return was heavy breathing and more footsteps. I looked for something around me to protect myself with when I saw it: two dots of emerald light shone at me through the trees and they were getting bigger and bigger until a boy stood before me. He was a bit taller, wearing a *fishtail parka over his black shirt. His features seemed to be accentuated, his teeth were exposed and seemed longer but it was hard to see in the dark, I couldn't really tell. Suddenly, I knew who it was. 'Jimmy,' I said, quietly. My heart was thumping in my ears so hard I thought it would burst my ear-drums, I could have sworn he could hear it. 'Jimmy, are you okay?' I tried again.

"And it was strange, oh, so strange how everything turned out but, all of a sudden, I wasn't scared anymore. I just looked back into those radiating circles of eyes. 'Jimmy, wake up,' I told him, letting him rest his hands on my shoulders and then – as if it was entirely ordinary, as if there was nothing unusual in the whole encounter – I rested my forehead against his. It was as if time has stopped and we were both trapped in that moment; sharing warmth and breath, eyes glowing in the darkness. Something seemed to hang between us, like... like static. It felt like the kind of life defining moment that neither of us could yet understand but during which we both seemed to realize that from then on time was broken into a before and an after.

"Ultimately, after what seemed like hours, his eyes gradually coloured back to its original brown and his own wakefulness seemed to wake me up also. Suddenly, none of it seemed normal anymore and I got scared. Jimmy... he probably felt it because he said, 'Margaret? Are you alright?' and I stepped back and shook my head, heart thumping again. But then he said, 'Margaret' – and it was funny how just the way he said my name seemed to calm me down – 'what just happened?' And he looked just as scared as I felt so I stepped forward again. 'I don't know,' I said, shaking my head and telling him how I got lost.

"He walked me home and I haven't seen him for weeks after that but things... things just started to change..."

Both Derek and Stiles seemed to have stopped breathing, waiting for the story to continue, hearing familiar excerpts echoing in Serafina's voice. She went on after searching for something in the palms of her hands and, perhaps, finding it, too.

"**I** started to change. Suddenly, I started hearing things I wasn't supposed to hear and I could see things – in the light of the day and in the darkness of the night – things that weren't mine to see. There were thoughts in my head that didn't belong to me and feelings in my heart that I couldn't feel. It started gradually and I didn't really notice it, at first, but soon, it was too much to ignore. The most interesting thing is... I was supposed to get scared, think I was going crazy but instead... It all felt so very natural, as if it did belong to me, as if I **was** supposed to see and hear it. Yet, I was also curious. 'What triggered this?' I wondered and I thought and I thought and analyzed and thought some more and I came to the Howard's one day, completely unannounced, entirely uninvited and I banged on that door with that awful door knocker – it was a vicious looking wolf with glowing red rubies for eyes – and demanded to see Jimmy Howard and the woman that opened – I later found out it was his mother – laughed and said, ushering me inside, 'Oh, you're a clever one, child. Come in, come in, Margaret.'

"I just gaped at her as she led me into their living room and sat me down on a couch and pushed a cup of tea and a biscuit into my hands. Before I knew it, Jimmy was right there – sitting right by my side – and his father was there, too, and they told me everything, everything about themselves and I couldn't believe it so. I jumped up and spilled the tea all over and the biscuit fell to the floor breaking into pieces before it could ever reach my mouth."

Serafina paused, as if making sure her and the boys were on the same page.

"They were werewolves," Stiles practically whispered, urging her to go on and she did:

"Yes, they were, the whole lot of them, well, almost all. I couldn't believe it, I swear.

"'Sorry,' I said, looking then at all the mess I made, terrified, 'I'm so sorry.' But Jimmy's mother, Elena her name was, she said she shouldn't have given me all that in the first place, not before a talk like that, and took away my cup and let Jimmy take my hand and sit me back down. 'It's okay,' Jimmy said rubbing circles into my palm. 'Margaret, it's okay,' he kept saying and eventually I calmed down enough and his father showed his form to me, the alpha, he was and I squeezed Jimmy's hand so hard I'm sure it would've left a mark if it weren't for his wolf gene. I asked Jimmy to show me his, then and he turned, right in front of me, features deepening, hair growing, teeth elongating. I sat frozen, not scared, just immobile. I touched his face and he turned back, as if by instinct and that's where I couldn't figure it out, that's where I got stumped: why were they telling me all this? Why me? Was I in danger now? So I voiced my concerns, well, most of them, at least and Jimmy smiled a bit sheepishly – rubbing at the back of his head – but very tenderly. 'Oh dear child,' his father said as if he was torn between being tremendously happy and immensely sad. 'Jimmy here, he has taken you for a mate," and I didn't understand it yet but the way he said it, the way Jimmy looked away then, guilty, told me that it meant a whole lot for them and even a greater deal for me."

Serafina stops suddenly even though the story is obviously far from the end and eyes Stiles carefully, counting in her head. Derek isn't even breathing by that point, just watching Stiles from under his eyelashes, careful, curious, scared. Stiles is thinking, gears grinding maliciously, circuits running. His eyes widen as everything clicks into place and there is realization in them and fear. Fear that is reflected in Derek's eyes as he can practically hear the clicking of Stiles' brain himself and as he sees, almost in slow motion, Stiles jumping to his feet, mattress springs whining under the sudden lurch.

* * *

><p><span>For You Interest (SpoilerAlert)<span>:

*The track's make and colour were taken from the 2008 movie "Keith" which I have immense love of.  
>**Brampton (the town which, by story is located not that far from Beacon's hill and is the place of Serafina's current and original residence) is actually one of the Toronto suburban towns in which the amazing movie "Ginger Snaps" (2000) was shot in 1999.<br>***Howard was the family name of the original Teen Wolf, Scott Howard, in the 1985 movie of the same name.  
>****All the Howard's kids names are taken from movies that are either relevant or that I really like. Brigitte is the younger sister and Sam is the boy that tries to help her cure Ginger (and Brigitte's potential love interest) in "Ginger Snaps"; Natalie is the love interest of the main character and is the second main character in the movie "Keith" (though frankly, I'd say <em>she<em> is the main character); Jimmy is the protagonist in the 2005 movie "Cursed" and Bo is a confused, gay character that makes a pass at Jimmy when Jimmy is bitten; Mick is the jerk boyfriend of the protagonist's love interest, Pamela, in the original "Teen Wolf".  
>*****This is probably so off the "Authentic era clothing" scale but I like them parkas xDD<p>

* * *

><p>I love this chapter! If you read Searafina's part out-loud in a quite, bittersweet voice with a slight British accent you can <em>really<em> get into the story, feel like you're right there, listening to her (at least that's how it is for me every time I read it).

Well, the cat is out of the bag now... Surprisingly, no one ever guessed the truth, no one even tried... xDD

Hope you enjoyed.

* * *

><p>As a side note, I have yet to find the fanfiction I put an announcement for. It is Derek\Stiles and I do not remember the rating. If anyone happens to remember it or find it or even remember that they've read it and supply me with some details, please contact me!<p>

* * *

><p>Special thanks go out to <strong>Dereksgirl24<strong>, who was the only one to ever comment at the oddness of what is happening to Stiles and to **gypsydancer529** and **Rosejoanna** for their reviews.

You guys keep me writing!

* * *

><p>School starts soon so to anyone who's is hopping on the "StudyStudyStudy" train, good luck!<p>

Thank you for reading, Cheerio! :))


End file.
